Just Let Me Wake Up Already
by Kako
Summary: What would you do if you went into a pensieve, and then found that you couldn't leave? What if the only person who could see you was your arch-nemesis? You'd haunt him and try and make his life miserable, of course. HG/TR
1. Curiosity Killed the Cat

Just let me wake up already

Premise: What would you do if you went into a Pensieve, and then found that you couldn't leave? What if the only person who could see you was your arch-nemesis? You'd haunt him and try and make his life hell, of course. HG/TR

A/N: Hello, everybody! I've been wanting to try my hand at writing something TR/HG, but I wasn't sure how to accomplish that without resorting to using a time-turner/diary, etc. Recently (maybe ten minutes ago) this plotbunny moved into my head and refused to vacate until I wrote it out. So, here goes. I've never read any fics using a Pensieve as the method of meeting, so hopefully this is an original concept. This is also _slightly_ AU, as I need to tweak the circumstances a little bit to get Hermione in contact with a Pensieve and the right memories. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter One: Curiosity Killed the Cat

"Will someone please remind me why we're doing this again?" Ron asked as Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ron, we've gone over this ten times already! We're searching for things to help us on our mission!" Hermione said, keeping her voice down as she repeated the reasoning to her red-headed friend.

"Then why are we whispering?" Ron asked. Hermione wanted to smack her head against the wall in frustration.

_Hmm, how about breaking and entering?_ She scoffed internally. While what they were doing wasn't really "breaking," (Harry knew the password) scouring the former Headmaster's office after his death for things that would be useful to them on their journey might have been looked down upon by some.

Professor McGonagall had let it slip that the three students were included in his will, but that the items willed were being detained for the moment. Outraged, the trio decided to take matters into their own hands. If Dumbledore had left them some important information about the destruction of Horcruxes, then they needed to know about it, and the sooner the better.

"This way," Harry said, slipping on his invisibility cloak. "I'll check this room, you two take the side rooms and closets." As it was nighttime, most of the portraits were fast asleep, but he was taking no chances.

"I'll go this way," Ron said, heading left as Hermione went right on the small corridor that branched out in front of Dumbledore's office. They were looking for anything: clues, books, or letters. Anything that could help them better understand the task that Dumbledore had left them.

What made Hermione uncomfortable the most about their situation was how little she actually knew about what they were up against. She liked to know everything about a problem or challenge before diving in, and here they were going in blind. Of course they knew that they had to destroy the Horcruxes, but they had no idea where to find them or what they were.

_If only we would've had a little bit more time! _Hermione thought with regret. It was too soon for everything, none of them were ready. None of them were prepared.

She approached a set of small double doors, opening them to reveal an unfamiliar basin with a light blue-ish water swirling inside. Hermione lifted a finger and prepared to dip it in, before she recoiled immediately.

_Have you lost all trace of thought, Hermione? _Her brain chided herself. _What on Earth are you doing, this thing could be dangerous!_

She bit her lip and studied the basin curiously, both hands now held firmly by her sides. Hermione's curiosity often got her into some strange situations, but she had always been able to keep it under control. _And besides, what's wrong with the pursuit of knowledge? _

Looking at the swirling blue gel-like substance, Hermione was hit with realization. _Harry told me about this. It's a __Pensieve__! It lets you look at other people's memories._

It reminded Hermione of a stone birdbath she'd seen in the backyard of her grandparent's house. It was detailed with carving on the pedestal and around the brim of the basin, but this one was much more intricate, and some of the carvings and lettering seemed to be of a different language. Hermione squinted, trying to tell if one looked like a rune or not.

Arranged above the Pensieve and on the sides of the closet-like room were shelves lined with tiny bottles, most of them unlabeled. _How are we supposed to know which ones are important? Some of these could be memories about __Voldemort's__ youth like the ones Dumbledore showed Harry!_

Hermione lifted one of the vials, watching the liquid slosh around happily inside. This one was without a label, and the green murky glass of the vial left no indication of what kind of memory was inside. Hermione could see flashes of faces or shapes in the memory that was currently in the basin, but couldn't infer anything about its contents through those brief flashes.

She rolled the vial lightly in her fingers, musing about what kind of memory would be inside. _These all must be important, for Dumbledore to hang on to them like this_. She was lost in her thoughts, and didn't notice Ron coming up behind her.

"Find anything interesting?" Ron asked, touching her lightly on the shoulder. Hermione gasped, and the vial fell out of her fingers. It crashed on the ground, the liquid pooling on the wooden floor. She turned, the adrenaline already pulsing through her veins at having been startled like that.

The words, "Ron! How dare you sneak up on me like that!" died on her lips as she slipped in the puddle from the memory, her feet shooting out from under her as she tried unsuccessfully to regain her balance. Her hands grabbed wildly at anything to hold on to, but her fingers found one corner of the shelf containing the memories. The rusty hinges snapped, and the entire shelf's worth of bottles plunged into the Pensieve, the cork or wax caps breaking or bobbing lightly on the surface.

After the shelf broke, Hermione looked on in horror as she felt herself falling again. Not thinking, she grabbed for the rim of the Pensieve, her fingers lightly brushing the blue liquid inside.

Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd done. She felt the pull of the memories tugging at her consciousness, and she locked eyes with Ron before everything went black and she collapsed to the floor.

Inside the Pensieve, the memories swirled together, happily pulsing inside the stone basin. If Ron would have looked, he'd have seen the light blue color change to an eerie green as he called for help, cradling Hermione's body in his arms.

* * *

Hermione blinked before looking around. _Ok, so I'm in a memory. And it looks an awful lot like Hogwarts._

Indeed, she found herself in the dungeons of the building, near where she'd normally had Potions class. She listened for any signs of voices, and then stuck her head out into the hall, wondering why it was so silent.

_Oh,_ she thought, looking out a small window. _It must be after hours. I wonder whose memory this __is?_

The sound of feet padding quickly up the hall made Hermione dash back in the corridor, before she remembered that _she_ had no worry of being caught after curfew. She looked back, and saw a hulking figure moving down the corridor. Hermione gasped as she caught sight of the face in the moonlight, for it was none other than Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwart's Care of Magical Creatures professor in her time. Here, he looked young, although he was as tall as ever and had the same wiry black hair.

She followed him, unsure of what she was expected to see in this memory. She had never been inside a Pensieve before, and didn't know what to expect. _Will I just wake up once the memory is over?_

Hagrid seemed to be heading towards the student Potions supply closet. He looked quickly behind him, making sure no one was following. _Too late for that, _Hermione thought grimly.

He walked up to the room, Hermione still down the hall as she quickened her pace to keep up. Out of instinct she ducked again behind a pillar as another face came into view. She looked out, wondering who this other person was.

_Let's see, __Hagrid__ was expelled during his third year, so this has to be before that, right? _She thought, wondering why Dumbledore would have this particular memory.

"Tom! What're ya doin here?" Hagrid asked, obvious worry in his voice. "I am Head Boy, I am allowed to be wherever I like," the other person sneered. "And I know what you're doing down here. Your _creature_ has been harming the students of this school, and it must be stopped. I'm turning you in, Hagrid."

_Head Boy? Who is this?_ Hermione thought, but the shadows from the pillars in the dungeons blocked her view of his face.

"He _wouldn't_!" Hagrid said, indignant fury rising in his voice. "He's not a killer! He wouldn't hurt a fly!"

Cold dread pooled in Hermione's stomach as she realized where she was. Right in front of her, Rubeus Hagrid was being framed for the Chamber of Secrets. And she now knew the identity of the mysterious Head Boy: it was none other than Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort.

_Oh. My. __God._She thought, taking a step back. _Ok, I'm done. I don't want to see any more of this. I don't want to be here __any more_ She had never been face to face with Voldemort before, and had no intentions of seeing his teen self.

"Hagrid, leave. Let me kill this creature and then we'll go see Dumbledore about your punishment. I daresay there's a cell in Azkaban waiting for you. That poor girl, what ever did she do to you?" Tom said, and Hermione didn't need to be able to see it to know that his mouth was turned up in his trademark arrogant smirk.

_Poor __Hagrid_ Hermione thought. _Although, wouldn't hurt a fly? Even for __Hagrid__, that's an awful big misconception for a giant spider._

She was too lost in thought to notice that the voices had stopped. Peeking out from behind the pillar, she could no longer see either Hagrid or Tom anywhere. _Ok, what else am I supposed to see?_

She walked into the corridor, but it was silent. She turned, heading towards the Headmaster's Office. _Wait a __second,__ Dumbledore isn't even the Headmaster yet! It's Armando __Dippet__, if I remember correctly_.

She had passed under a flaming torch when a voice called out, "Hey, you!"

Hermione kept walking, the stairway that led to the main floor in sight. "I'm talking to you! Turn around!" the voice called again.

Surprised, Hermione turned to see who the voice was talking to. She was met with the bright green eyes of Tom Riddle, staring right back into her hazel ones as he walked towards her in the hallway.

She looked around, trying to see who he was talking to.

"Are you deaf?" Tom asked again, and Hermione blanched. "Wha-what…me?" She asked, confused.

Tom rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes, you. Who else would I be talking to? What are you doing walking around after hours?" His voice held a dangerous edge.

"I…I…" was all Hermione could choke out. _This can't be happening, he shouldn't be able to see me!_ She resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears, close her eyes, and start chanting 'you can't see me, la la la la'

"This is impossible! Y-you shouldn't be able to see me!" She cried, her voice wavering. She looked around, waving her hands in front of her. For the first time, she noticed the semi-transparency of her arms. "Merlin, I'm a ghost!"

Tom looked almost as surprised as she did, but he regained his composure quickly. "I've seen all the ghosts here, and you don't look familiar," he said suspiciously.

"That's because I'm not a ghost!" She huffed, crossing her arms indignantly.

"But you just said you were," Tom pointed out.

Hermione felt like screaming. _Is this my punishment for breaking into the Headmaster's Office and intruding on his…oh, gosh, the __Pensieve_

"Make up your mind, what are you?" Tom asked.

"I have no idea," Hermione said crossly. "And even if I knew, I wouldn't tell _you_."

Tom raised an eyebrow at her childish antics. Any normal student would've been scared into submission by now, and none of the ghosts of Hogwarts ever paid him much attention. They were smart enough to stay away.

"Tom, are you still down here?" A voice called from the stairwell. Hermione stopped ranting to turn and look at the source of the voice. A much younger Dumbledore descended the stairs, the usual twinkle gone from his eyes as he asked, "Have you apprehended the creature?"

Hermione looked on in confusion. Dumbledore walked straight towards Tom, never once looking at her. His eyes momentarily crossed the space where she stood, but they passed over her just as quickly.

"Professor! I need your help!" Hermione called, but Dumbledore gave no indication he ever heard her.

"No, I'm afraid Hagrid allowed it to escape," Tom said with distaste. "It's probably in the Forbidden Forest by now."

"I see. Will you join me in the Headmaster's Office with Headmaster Dippet and Rubeus Hagrid? We'd like to keep this as quiet as possible, if not to scare any more of the students," Dumbledore continued, heading back up the staircase.

"Professor!" Hermione called again, this time her voice breaking more out of fear than worry. _What have I done?_ She thought. She looked up at Tom, who gave her a knowing smirk before walking past her after Dumbledore.

_Why, that inconsiderate, arrogant, contemptuous bastard!_ She thought, clenching her hands into fists. It would feel so good to throw a full-scale temper tantrum, but she had other things to think about.

_And he knows,_ she thought with dread. _He knows Dumbledore can't see me. I wonder…I wonder if anyone else can, __too?_

She thought back to the Pensieve. They had never really covered Pensieves before in class, but this seemed highly irregular. How many memories, exactly, had fallen in? If they _were_ all about Tom Riddle, that might explain part of why he was the only one who could see her.

_But it's just a memory,_ she thought with confusion. _How will my presence here affect things?_ She remembered where she was, and raced up the stairs, heading for the Headmaster's office.

She stood in front of the stone gargoyles, which had just closed when she stepped out of the stairwell. _That's just great_, she scoffed. _Although…I wonder._ She reached an arm out tentatively, lightly brushing the stone with her fingertips before fully plunging it through.

She immediately withdrew it, clutching the hand to her chest as she massaged the fingers with her other hand. The sensation was unusual, although not painful in any way. She took a deep breath, and was about to walk straight through, when the gargoyles opened, and Dumbledore and Tom Riddle stepped out.

Hermione shot back, not particularly wanting to walk through _either_ of them. Hermione caught Tom's look of surprise, but he quickly masked it with his normal charade of concerned student. "You should go back to your dormitory," Dumbledore was saying. Tom nodded, then turned and walked down the hall away from Hermione as Dumbledore retreated back into the office.

"Don't you walk away from me!" Hermione cried, racing after him. "You can see me!" She said, like that justified her statement.

"Just what the hell are you?" Tom asked, stopping. He looked irritated, and Hermione knew that he had dropped his 'innocent' façade long ago. Since she couldn't go to anyone for help, he had no reason to pretend to be anything but what he was.

"_What_ am I?" Hermione asked angrily. She put her hands on her hips. "_My name_ is Hermione. I won't bother with the niceties because I already know _your_ name, _Tom Riddle_."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "So are you some kind of poltergeist?"

Images of Peeves flashed in her head, and Hermione burst out laughing. She looked up, and only laughed harder at the deep scowl etched on his face. _Obviously not the reaction he was expecting_, she thought with a giggle.

"Well, go haunt someone else." And with that, Tom spun on his heel and walked away.

Hermione let him go. Unwittingly, he had just provided her with the perfect course of action. He was the only one who could see her and talk to her. He would help her or she would just haunt his every waking hour. And if he didn't, she would make his life hell for everything he'd do in the future. _This could be fun_.

"I'll be your own personal poltergeist, Tom Riddle," Hermione promised softly after he had left.

* * *

A/N: Ta-da! And there you have it. I know the memory of Hagrid and Tom was taken from the diary, but I wanted to send Hermione back to a time when Tom was still in Hogwarts and preferably in his seventh year, and that was the only one I could think of. I also hope I'm keeping them in-character, especially Tom. He's very difficult for me to write, but hopefully that'll get better in later chapters. I'm not sure how long of a fic this'll be, as I've already planned how it's going to end, I just need to get it there. Anyways, any comments on the plot or the characterizations would be greatly appreciated! I'll update as quickly as I can.

--Kako


	2. Wake Up Call

Just let me wake up already

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not JK Rowling. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: I want to give a big THANK YOU!! to everyone to read/reviewed/alerted for this fic. It really makes me "squee!" with joy to get comments of any kind on my work, and I only hope I can live up to your expectations.

Muffin baskets to: Author of My Life, Charlotte232, ElizabethRoy, Hajnalmadar, and Sakura Takanouchi. Thanks for reviewing!

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Recap of Ch. 1:

_"I'll be your own personal poltergeist, Tom Riddle," Hermione __promised__ softly after he had left. _

Chapter Two: Wake Up Call

It took Hermione about five seconds to realize that she was still standing in the hallway, and had no where to go. She proceeded to spend the rest of the night exploring, and figuring out what was different about this time.

The novelty of being able to walk through walls wore off pretty quickly, as she couldn't scare anyone and the sensation was so strange to her. It felt like apparating, but without the air being squeezed from your lungs. Not exactly comforting.

Hermione was left with tons of questions about her situation after her encounter with Tom and Dumbledore. Sure, other humans couldn't see her, but could ghosts? She searched the school for any trace of the House ghosts she was so familiar with, but couldn't find any of them. _Do ghosts sleep?_

That left another unanswered question. She was exhausted mentally, but didn't even know if sleep was possible for a ghost, let alone a memory. She headed to the library, the place she had always taken the most comfort in during her own years at Hogwarts.

The library was empty, and eerily quiet. Hermione settled down on a padded bench, and closed her eyes. Sleep never came, not for the five times she counted the great clock tolling the hour outside the Great Hall, its sound carrying through the entire building.

Fuming, Hermione sat up. She wanted to sleep, Merlin knows she _needed_ to sleep, but it was impossible for her. To add insult to injury, she was in the library, and couldn't read a page of any of the books in it. She had already tried, her hand passing straight through a copy of _Hogwarts, a History_, the book she so often read before bed in the past.

She glanced up at the wall clock in the library. _Five o'bloody clock in the morning_, she thought angrily. In an hour and a half, students would be waking up to eat breakfast and start their classes. She would enjoy sitting in on classes during this time, although she'd read they were much less stringent than the classes she took in the future.

_Well, if I can't sleep_, she thought with a devilish grin. _There's no reason why he should either_.

With that, she headed back towards the dungeons where the Slytherin dormitories were. Harry and Ron had told her where the House was after their escapades with the Polyjuice potion their second year, during the opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

Just remembering about the Chamber made her blood boil. After all, _she_ had been one of the ones petrified by the basilisk. And the person who was responsible for it was the same person she was now going to go see.

She approached the entrance, taking a deep breath before plunging through the rock to their common room. She made a mental note to discover the locations of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Houses, that information could come in handy later.

Hermione's lip curled in disgust upon seeing the inside of the Slytherin common room. Everything was garishly opulent, but set against the thick dark stone of the dungeons. Green and silver were the only colors around, although Hermione could see a torn Gryffindor poster that seemed to function as a dartboard.

_Ok, now to find his room_, she thought, walking up the stairs. She wasn't used to the whole 'mischief-making' concept, so she'd have to take a leaf out of Fred and George's book. _If only I had a portable swamp, I could definitely improve the state of the common room, _she thought with a grin.

Hermione walked through the door to the seventh year boy's common room, for once glad that she was transparent. The room was a mess, and Hermione would've tripped over at least three things if she didn't walk right through them. She had seen Harry and Ron's room at Grimmauld Place, but this was a thousand times worse. Trunks were opened on the floor, chairs were tipped over, and Hermione squeaked with surprise as she nearly stepped on a toad lying between two piles of Transfiguration textbooks.

Spying the only clean corner in the entire room, Hermione knew that had to be Tom's. She could see his sleeping visage through the curtains that he had pulled partway around his bed. In slumber his face looked somewhat innocent, although Hermione knew he was anything but that. She grinned—he was going to love this.

She cupped her mouth with her hands and began to yell, "WAKE UP TOM RIDDLE! GET YOUR SLEEPING ASS OUT OF BED! RISE AND SHINE!" She wished she had a bunch of pots and pans with her, they would make this experience much more enjoyable.

She grinned, unable to keep the smile from her face as Tom shot up in bed, turning over and almost falling off the bed as he looked around for the source of the noise. Hermione leaned again the wall, trying to do her best "Tom Riddle smirk" impersonation.

"What the hell are you doing!" He cried, before realizing where he was. "Talking to yourself, Riddle?" Hermione asked, her grin widening as someone from across the room asked, "Who are you talking to?"

"Go to sleep, Brown!" Tom barked before turning to look outside the window. While it was still dark, a tiny sliver of light began to form over the horizon.

He glared at Hermione before turning and throwing his head back against the pillow, determined to ignore her at all costs. _Fine, if he wants to play that game_, she thought.

"Tom! You'll listen to me unless you want me to stick my hand in your head and feel your brain! I'm a ghost, I'll do it!" It was probably the most juvenile thing she'd ever said since she was ten, but it got the point across. Tom jerked up again, shooting her a murderous look that only made her fight harder to keep in her laughter. _If he was a basilisk, I'd already be dead_.

"What time is it?" Tom hissed. "Five in the morning," Hermione said cheerfully. _This is too amusing. If only I had a camera, especially a wizard kind. I could preserve this moment for eternity_. At his expression, Hermione was glad she was a ghost, or she was sure he would be choking her right now.

"What do you want?" Tom asked, resolved. "This is my revenge for what you did to Hagrid," Hermione said. "And, believe me, it will become a regular occurrence unless you meet me at one in the room of requirement. I want to figure out what's happening to me, and unless you like waking up at five in the morning, _or earlier_," she threatened, "you'll help me."

Tom bit back whatever scathing remark he had on the tip of his tongue. "Fine," he whispered. Hermione flounced out of the room; her work was done.

Hermione decided it probably wouldn't be the best move to stalk Tom through his morning classes, so she followed a group of Ravenclaws through their morning Charms and DADA lessons. It was interesting, but Hermione was most looking forward to being in Dumbledore's Transfiguration lectures. She had caught a glimpse of a Slytherin girl's schedule, and knew that the seventh years had Transfiguration in the afternoon, right after Potions and before the dinner break. _Perfect_, she thought. Annoy Tom Riddle and sit in a class Dumbledore taught. A perfect afternoon.

Hermione waited for Tom to approach the room of requirement first, unsure if the room would even open for her. Once he was inside, she walked up, slipping through the stone wall to get to the room inside.

He saw her enter, but said nothing, letting his books drop with a loud _'thud'_ on a side table.

"So…how was breakfast?" Hermione asked weakly in an attempt at conversation. At the dark look Tom sent her, she knew he was still angry for what she did that morning.

"Hey, don't think I'm any happier about being stuck here with you than you are!" Hermione shouted. She had tried to have this conversation in the library with a statue, but found that it wasn't the same as talking with an actual person.

"This is horrible! I'm like a ghost, and the only person who can see me is _you_! I can't sleep! I can't eat! I can't even shower!" She cried, cringing inwardly at how that came out. Tom raised an eyebrow, and Hermione resisted the urge to smack him.

"Oh, you know what I mean," she said, crossing her arms. "I want to find a way out of here, and I need your help. You're _going_ to help me, or so help me, I'll make that morning wake-up call look like a basket of posies."

"Is that a threat?" He asked as his eyes met hers. Hermione wanted to shudder, for even though he looked different than the Lord Voldemort she knew on the outside, his eyes were the same. They weren't red yet, but they didn't need to be. _The eyes truly are the window to the soul_.

"Is that a challenge?" Hermione spit back, determined not to back down. Tom took a step closer, and Hermione stood her ground, glaring right back at him as he moved closer towards her. He closed the distance, his feet inches from hers before she took a step back, unnerved.

Tom grinned, rolling his yew wand between his fingers. "There's one thing I'm wondering about," he said, and Hermione caught the dangerous undertone in his voice. She had been wondering if magic could affect her, and she figured her theory would be tested right now.

"What's that?" She asked, keeping his gaze as his reflexes kicked into action, shooting a "_Defodio_" curse at her.

Hermione never blinked as the hex passed right through her, gouging a huge split in the wall behind her, shattering a mirror that crashed to the ground. She grinned knowingly; _his magic can't hurt me_.

"What now, Riddle?" She asked. She had the upper hand, and by the deepening scowl on Tom's face, he didn't like it one bit.

She broke the eye contact for a second, and when she looked up, Tom was already heading towards the exit, his books in his hands.

"Well, that went well," she said sarcastically after he'd left. Hermione headed after him, stopping when the floor vibrated underneath her.

"What the hell?" She gasped, falling as the walls began to snap together, the couches and tables sinking into the floor as everything faded to gray, the windows melting into the walls as Hermione staggered towards the empty stone wall, gasping for breath as she burst through the stone into the hallway.

She leaned against the wall, her eyes wide as she thought about what had just happened. _The room was going back_, she thought, wondering what it looked like in its unused state. She decided against going in, determined to make a grand entrance into Tom's Potions class.

She headed into the class, giving Tom a big grin as she headed straight towards him. He was seated in the back at a table with three other Slytherins, students from other Houses at the other tables in the NEWT level class.

"Hello, sunshine," She mocked as she slid into a chair next to him. "Changed your mind about helping me yet?" He shook his head quickly, glaring at her for one brief moment before a much younger Slughorn walked in, wishing a hearty "good afternoon!" to the class before waving his wand at the chalkboard and the name of a Potion appeared, 'Veneficus umbra'

"Who can tell me what this potion does?" Slughorn asked. Several hands went up; Tom's was of course among them.

Slughorn beamed at his favorite student, and Hermione took the opportunity to start shouting, "Purple peaches popped plenty of parched parakeets! Peter piper picked a peck of pickled peppers! Eggs and bacon, eggs and bacon!"

Tom had opened his mouth to answer, shooting a glare at Hermione as she interrupted his concentration. Gritting his teeth, he said, "The veneficus umbra potion is a very deadly poison—"

"Eggs, bacon, and a cornucopia of canteloupes!"

Tom narrowed his eyes. "It makes use of the toxin in the deadly nightshade flower, which is lethal in liquid form although it does have an antidote, made out of the amelium flower."

"Yes, five points to Slytherin," Slughorn said, giving Tom a strange look. Hermione grinned, enjoying his discomfort. To the rest of the class, it must have looked quite strange.

"And I have the antidote right here, just in case anyone should spill a bit. I have the utmost confidence that everyone in this class will be able to prepare this potion correctly!" Slughorn continued, waving his wand as the spell's ingredients and instructions listed themselves on the board. "You may begin!"

Tom turned back to face her, and Hermione thought she heard a small growl in the back of his throat. If it was possible, she knew she would have been on the receiving end of some Nightshade poison.

"What's the matter, Riddle?" She asked innocently. She watched with glee as he stalked off towards the supply cabinet, banging down his cauldron as he gathered the necessary ingredients.

Hermione could tell Tom was doing his best to ignore her. The rest of the students, even the Slytherins, tried their hardest to stay out of his way. Tom was chopping up a Cellarius root, when Hermione leaned over him.

"Don't mess up!" She whispered. Surprised, Tom 's knife slipped as he chopped a huge section off of the root. Clenching the knife in his fist, Tom merely shot her another look of venomous fury and turned back to his root.

_What is that, like the tenth one so far? He should know that glaring won't hurt me_, she thought with a smile. _I wonder how much more of this he can take._

Hermione proceeded to annoy Tom as best she could during the rest of class, whispering instructions to other potions in his ear while he was adding different things to the potion, and shouting out random numbers while he was stirring the potion in the prescribed pattern.

Surprisingly, Tom still managed to finish the potion correctly, which Hermione supposed said something about his intelligence. She knew Tom was intelligent—but if he really was smart he would've given up on this a long time ago. She knew she almost had him. Truth be told, this was some of the most fun she'd had in months. _I guess it's a good thing I don't have siblings_, she thought ruefully. _I would probably tease __them worse than__ this_.

The class ended, with Slughorn beaming at Tom's potion as he none too gently set the bottle on his desk, accepting an invitation to the Slug Club the following week.

"So Tom, ready to re-negotiate?" Hermione asked sweetly. She followed him down the hall, sure that he was about to snap. "Alright, fine," he said, saying the words quietly out of the corner of his mouth. "You win, I'll help you. Just…no more of this. Don't wake me up in the middle of the night, don't try to throw off my schoolwork…that was a cheap trick, by the way."

_I learn from the best_, she wanted to say, but kept the words back. "Alright. I'll tell you more about my situation after Transfiguration, and you can help me read up about it. The sooner I get home, the better," she sighed.

"We could just blow off Transfiguration," he suggested. "It's my least favorite class."

At Hermione's horrified look, Tom's lips turned up in a smirk. "Fine, don't agree with me. As I recall, you seemed to know Professor Dumbledore well."

Hermione bit back her retort. She couldn't let him know about his future, but she couldn't see any way out of telling him about the Pensieve and the memories. She could tell him she was from the future, but she wouldn't tell him anything that would happen. She couldn't.

In Transfiguration, Hermione was enthralled. Tom sat with a group of Slytherins, all of them giving him an almost worship-like respect, while she sat in the empty aisle between two rows of desks.

Dumbledore's style of teaching was very different from Professor McGonagall's. While she was very strict and predictable, Dumbledore turned the simple instruction of a spell into a re-telling of anecdotes and jokes, and letting students chime in with answers to questions, awarding points to all and fairly selecting random students from all across the class. It was very interactive, and Hermione felt her heart ache as the class paired off and got to work on Transfiguring their feather quills into steel, porcelain, and finally, water. Molecular Transfiguration was different from just changing the surface appearance of an object, because in this case the water could not be transformed back into the quill it once was.

After class, Hermione hopped up and walked out through the front door, not wanting to get run through by the hordes of Slytherins and Ravenclaws wanting to go to dinner.

Hermione saw Tom pausing to talk to the Slytherins he had been sitting with, although she couldn't catch any of their conversation. Truthfully, she didn't _want_ to know what he was doing. _It's not like I can do anything about it_, she thought glumly.

"Come on," Tom said out of the corner of his mouth, and Hermione followed him to the Room of Requirement. He really was quite good at this ventriloquism thing.

She followed him through the rock, not wanting to repeat the previous experience of getting caught inside the changing room.

"So, tell me what you're doing here," were the first words out of Tom Riddle's mouth.

"What, you don't need to eat either?" Hermione asked, waiting for his reaction. "Concerned?" He asked, the trademark smirk returning. _Ack__, I really need to stop baiting him_, she thought.

"Of course not," Hermione said, moving further towards the center of the room. She missed the amused glance in Tom's eyes, instead trying to focus how exactly she wanted to phrase her words.

"Have you ever heard of a Pensieve?" _Well, that seems like a pretty good place to start_.

Tom nodded. "Yes, but I've never seen one. They're quite rare. They hold memories, and you can use one to look back at past memories. It's especially useful because you can see other people's memories in addition to those of your own."

Hermione was surprised he hadn't connected the dots yet. "Yes. I was sort-of, umm…involved with an accident with a Pensieve, and I found myself stuck inside it." At Tom's confused look, Hermione gestured around the room with her transparent arms. "_Here_."

Tom's mouth dropped into an 'oh' of recognition. "So...you're in a memory?"

"Yes and no. _I'm_ real, and _you're_ the memory. I have no idea how this happened, but I'm sure we can find some information about this in the library, or ask Dumbledore about Pensieves," she glared as Tom snorted at the last suggestion. "Well, have you got any better ideas?"

"I've never heard of this sort of thing happening before," Tom mused thoughtfully, stroking his chin with one hand. Hermione could already see the gears turning in his head. All she had to do was appeal to his ego, and present the situation like an unsolvable challenge he couldn't pass up.

"So how exactly did this accident take place?" Tom asked. Hermione swallowed, wringing her hands in front of her. She was flustered; she hated admitting her mistakes, especially when they made her sound like such an idiot. _I should've been more cautious, it's __all my__ fault_.

"Well," Hermione started. "I _accidentally_ knocked over a shelf of memories, and then tripped on one that broke, and grabbed onto the Pensieve for support, and got sucked in," she said all in a whoosh. _There, __its__ over_.

Tom's eyebrow rose, and Hermione glared at him as he contemplated the surely hilarious image of Hermione acting like such a klutz.

"So, you're saying that you're from the future?" He asked, this time unable to keep the genuine interest from his voice.

_Ah. I wondered when we were going to get to that. Just call me the Ghost of Christmas Future or whatever._

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "But I'm not telling you a word. Even though this is only a memory, I'm not risking messing anything up."

"Hmm, I wonder what I'll look like in the future," Tom said, admiring his hair in the repaired mirror on the side of the wall. Hermione nearly choked, trying to keep back her laughter. "You could've done a lot better for yourself, let's just say that," she said sarcastically. _Wait, how did we get off subject? Oh, right, the __pensieve_

"So, let's go over the information we already know," Tom said, turning back to business. "Only I can see you, and you're like a ghost."

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," Hermione scoffed, sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs in the room.

"You act like a normal ghost, which means that you're sort of in a limbo state between two worlds…" He stopped at Hermione's glare, and decided to stop repeating the obvious. "Look, if you don't want my help, just say so. I'm trying to figure out what we need to look for!"

"Well, I'd never been through a pensieve before. I suppose I'll go back when the memory ends, or when I see whatever it was I was meant to see, or if someone in my time manages to wake me up," Hermione argued. She hoped that Ron and Harry were working on some way to revive her back in her time.

"You said you knocked over a shelf of memories. How many exactly are we talking about?" Tom asked as he started to pace the room.

"Uhh, ten? Twelve?" Hermione guessed, her face again growing hot with embarrassment. _Technically not my fault_.

"Impressive," Tom mocked, and Hermione wished for a corporeal fist so she could smack him.

"So whose memories are you in?" He asked. Hermione bit her lip, not sure if she wanted to answer that question. "Since I started in the dungeons," she began slowly. "That means the memory was either from Hagrid," she looked up, "or you."

"I seriously _doubt_ that," Tom scoffed. "I would never befriend a muggle-born _Gryffindor_," he said, gesturing to her robes, which bore her Gryffindor prefect badge. Hermione narrowed her eyes. "How did you know I was a muggle-born?"

"Not many wizards or witches would know who Sherlock Holmes was," he said lazily. Hermione snorted. "Don't be such a hypocrite, _half-blood_. Your father was a muggle too, so get off your high horse and quit pretending otherwise."

At his snarl she knew she'd touched a nerve, but refused to back down. "_Don't mention my disgusting __muggle__ father to me, __mudblood_" he growled, but by now Hermione had heard that insult thrown at her so many times over the years that she refused to let it get to her.

Hermione recognized the familiar tension in the air. The two of them were literally seconds from ripping out the other's throat, and they each needed a breather. _Count to ten, think twice before speaking_, she thought to herself as she exhaled deeply.

"Look, let's just pick this up later," Hermione said, getting up and walking towards the stone wall where the door normally appeared. She had no intention of being the last one stuck in this room again. She faded through the wall, heading towards the nearest door she could find. She planned to take a walk; being outdoors always seemed to calm her down, and right now she could use all the calm she could get.

Still inside the Room of Requirement, Tom was left baffled by Hermione's sudden departure. She had left without challenging him, which was what he expected. This girl was a lot of things; but predictable surely wasn't one of them. Upon learning that she only appeared to him, he first considered that she was a figment of his imagination, and that he was going crazy. But her story fit, oddly enough. It sounded plausible, and pensieves were one magical object he hadn't had the chance to explore yet. If he could master the ability to move through other's memories…

He quashed the idea, the smirk returning on his face as he remembered their earlier conversation. _"__Uhh__…Ten?__ Twelve?" _What a klutz.

His mood slightly elevated by replaying the mental image of Hermione tripping over pensieves and memories, Tom returned to the Slytherin common room. He had some business to discuss with some of his…_supporters_.

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A/N: So, a nice big meaty chapter for you all! This chapter was a ton of fun to write, and I hope you all enjoyed it.

Also, as I don't have a copy of any of the HP books with me at the moment, I have to make up all my potions/terms information (I'm set for spells, thank you Wikipedia!). The deadly nightshade is an actual poisonous plant, its leaves are toxic and hallucinogenic. I just created the name of the potion by plugging random words into a latin translator.

Also, the "eggs and bacon" line was a reference to an episode of the Disney Channel show 'Cory in the House' (don't own, and please, don't ask xD) but I felt it really fit the moment.

The next couple chapters will focus more on Tom and Hermione's relationship, and some more information about memories and pensieves. I'll try to update sometime this weekend, but as I have two exams this week and I'm trying to focus on making longer chapters so it might be a bit longer than that.

Love, Kako


	3. Of Plots and Pensieves

Just let me wake up already

Disclaimer: I don't own HP or any of its characters. I just own this plot, and the vial of 'Veneficus umbra' poison I put up on Ebay. Any takers? (just kidding!)

A/N: Whee, I'm glad this fanfic is so well received. I'm really motivated to write for this over my other fanfics, all of your kind words really make it that much easier for me to put aside my schoolwork and other stuff to crank out this next chapter xD

I name stars after you (I ran out of muffin baskets): Rainbow Cookies, Punkey-Monkey, Alena Emris, Kate (thank you! That's really what I was going for), vinz112, riddleandme, Sakura Takanouchi, irene0222, and sserpensssotia. Thank you all for taking the time to leave a review!

Also, I dip into Tom's POV a little bit during this chapter. Sorry in advance if it's a bit confusing to follow, I'm trying my best.

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Recap:

_His mood slightly elevated by replaying the mental image of Hermione tripping over __pensieves__ and memories, Tom returned to the __Slytherin__ common room. He had some business to discuss with some of his…supporters._

Chapter Three: Of plots and pensieves

Hermione fumed as she stalked off towards the gardens, just wanting to get as far away from the castle, and Tom Riddle, as humanly possible.

_The nerve of that…that…GARGH!_

She clenched her transparent hands into fists, stamping her feet as she paced around a small fountain located in a small garden off of the entrance hall. It was quiet and empty, which was just what she needed. She was having enough trouble lately keeping her own thoughts in line, she didn't need someone else's to listen to.

Whenever she was angry or upset in the past, she had always had a friend or someone else to turn to and talk it out with. Sometimes you just needed to pour everything out to someone else, and have them give you advice on what to do. In this case, she couldn't talk to _anyone_.

_And the worst part is_, she thought, _I can't even break something!_

She would have dearly loved to have been able to throw the heaviest encyclopedia in the library right at the back of one certain Slytherin's head. She certainly wouldn't have had any trouble hitting it, his ego was so inflated that sometimes she wondered how he managed not to float right out a window.

_Hey, maybe that's how __Voldemort__ is able to fly_, she thought with a grin.

No matter how much Riddle-bashing she did, it still didn't seem to alleviate the bottled-up anger inside of her. In times like this, she loved to either beat her pillow to smithereens, eat a ton of really high-quality chocolate, or scream.

Seeing as she couldn't do any of the first two things, she began to yell at the fountain.

Five minutes and several obscenities later, Hermione felt slightly guilty. What had the poor fountain ever done to her? _It's missed out on seven years' worth of opportunities to drown Riddle_, she thought sullenly, trying to kick the fountain. Of course she missed, her foot swinging right through the stone and water, causing Hermione to spin around, almost losing her balance.

Suddenly she brightened, catching sight of the Herbology Greenhouses out of the corner of her eye. After all, a good Snargaluff strangling always made _her_ feel better. She figured watching others do it would have much the same effect. Somewhat mollified, she walked off towards the Greenhouses, humming the first song that popped into her head.

----

Tom barely made it to the hallway before the Slytherin House entrance when he was surrounded by a large group of boys, all of them wearing the green robes or ties of their house. Tom let a lazy smirk cross his face; apparently they weren't all _that_ incompetent, Aidan _had_ delivered his message to the band of followers that Tom had assembled over the years. They weren't _friends_, but they were linked together by the title that Tom had recently began calling them: _the Death Eaters_.

"Yes, Tom? What did you want to talk to us about?" asked Anthony Bole, a fifth year. Young and impressionable, he had been instantly hookwinked by Tom's promises of a world of pureblood superiority and the seduction of the Dark Arts.

"Not here, you idiots! Follow me back to the dormitory," Tom told them, leading the way through the common room and up the stairs to where the seventh year boy's dormitory was. No one in the common room paid too much attention to the group, although several seventh-year girls waved and smiled at Tom, who offered them a wink in return.

"That Cedrella Black, she's a nice piece of work, eh?" Aidan Malfoy asked, earning a none-too-gentle punch in the shoulder from another member of the group. "That's my _sister_, you moron," Pollux Black snapped, causing Aidan to raise his arms in mock surrender as another of their group attempted to trip Pollux as he climbed the stairs. While not terribly bright, Pollux had muscle, listened to orders well, and had money to spare.

When they had entered the dormitory, Tom locked the door behind them. It was a snug fit, for there were at least nine people in the room.

"So, anything new to report?" Tom asked, taking control of the meeting. They really hadn't done much since he had been forced to close the Chamber of Secrets, and with Dumbledore breathing down his neck, he didn't want to do anything rash before he had graduated. Once he was free and on his own, then he could take his plans on a much grander scale.

"We _tried_ to harass that Muggleborn, Owen Cooke, but we were interrupted by that blood-traitor, Ben Prewett—" Aidan started before Tom cut him off.

"You got _caught_?" He asked, the anger clearly present in his voice. "Need I remind you incompetent slugs that our actions must not be discovered while we are still at Hogwarts? After what's happened earlier this year, you should know better. I _do_ hope one of you got in a good hex first," he scoffed, staring at each student in turn.

"I did, Tom," one boy said, his perfectly sleek blond hair identifying him as a Malfoy, although he was much smaller than his brother Aidan. "I sent a Bat-Bogey Hex at him, he was in the infirmary all afternoon," he proudly said, glad he could prove himself after always being outshined by his older brother.

Tom, however, had let his gaze drift to the medium-sized window in the wall to his left, where he could see a certain familiar ghost pacing furiously around a small courtyard. He grinned as he saw her try to kick the fountain, nearly fall over, and deliver an obscene gesture he didn't think the goody-two-shoes was capable of. He let out a chuckle before snapping back to reality, where the other Death Eaters were giving him an odd look. Apparently, they didn't find Abraxas' Bat-Bogey Hex quite as amusing.

"Well, anything else?" He asked harshly. Another seventh-year Slytherin, a tall boy with short brown hair, spoke up. "I succeeded in getting that job at the Ministry. Next year I'll be an Assistant in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he smiled, but it was fake. Tom had asked all of them who were smart enough to consider getting jobs in the Ministry or other places where they could spread the ideology of the Death Eaters and even recruit more followers.

"Good job, Rosier," Tom told him, again looking out the window. Hermione had disappeared, and Tom wondered if she was headed back to visit him. If he didn't have a book on Pensieves for her, he'd never hear the end of it. He was already considering taking a Sleeping Draught for that night when he remembered the meeting was still going on.

"That's it. You're all dismissed," Tom said gruffly, waving the boys out of the room. They hurriedly filed out, heading back downstairs for the common room. As Tom preferred to be alone rather than study or chat with the rest of his House they often stayed away from the dormitory during the day so he could have the place to himself, although he spent more of his time in library.

_They don't know that I have my own personal chamber_, he thought with a grin. While the basilisk wasn't particularly good company while he was working on his Arithmancy essays, the Chamber provided him with an excellent place where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.

He frowned. _That ghost girl could get in, if she knows where it is_, he thought sullenly. Suddenly in a bad mood, Tom wished he had Crucio-d at least one of his followers during the meeting, it always made him feel better and made the others that much more devoted in their pursuit to do his bidding. The grin returned to his face. _The night's still young_, he thought as he walked purposefully out of the room and down the stairs, heading straight to the library.

----

Hermione had left the Greenhouses and was heading back towards the Castle. It was getting dark now, and ghosts didn't have any better eyesight than normal people. She walked through the door, finding herself back in the entrance hall. It was a quick walk to the library, where she decided she'd wait for Riddle.

She floated through the aisles, looking at the book spines for anything promising. Three rows later, and she still hadn't found anything. Looking up, she saw a book titled _Pensieves__ and Power_ by Alexander Fancourt, and with a happy yell, proceeded to swipe her hand right through the book.

Growling, Hermione fumed as she paced the empty space in front of the bookshelf. _This is going to drive me insane_, she thought, trailing her hand through a bottom row of books as her fingers instinctively tried to grab on to the pages. This section in the library seemed to be devoted entirely to books about magical or enchanted objects, and seemed to be completely devoid of students, although Hermione could hear voices faintly from several rows over.

Still fuming, Hermione wondered what to do while she waited. An image from the afternoon popped into her brain, and she fumbled in her robes for her wand. The vine wood felt comfortable in her hand, although like everything else she carried or wore when she was drawn into the pensieve, portrayed a transparent lucidity.

She cast a noiseless summoning spell at the book, but all that shot out of her wand was a light gray filmy smoke that hovered in the air slightly before vanishing.

She tried '_Wingardium __Leviosa_,' but the same thing happened. Thick gray vapor poured from Hermione's wand no matter what spell she used, and she stuffed the wand back in her pocket, letting out an anguished screech.

At the undisguised laughter behind her, Hermione turned, crossing her arms as she saw Tom Riddle leaning nonchalantly against a bookshelf. He pulled a book out and leafed through it absently, mocking her.

_Well__ at least__ I can cast the best damn fog spell out there_, she thought with a huff.

"I found a book on Pensieves," she said instead, gesturing to the small book on the top shelf. Tom waved his wand and the book shot off the shelf, landing in his outstretched hand.

"Show-off," Hermione muttered, although Tom's widening grin as he read the cover told her he had heard her words.

"I've checked this whole side about books on Pensieves," Hermione stated. "That's the only one, but I don't know about the restricted section."

"You go in there, then," Tom told her as he opened the Fancourt book. "If there are any books on pensieves or memories there, I'll get Slughorn to give the approval."

Hermione floated through the bookshelves, gritting her teeth as she stomped across the library. _How is it that whenever I'm by myself I'm horribly lonely, but whenever I try to talk to the only person who can listen, I want to strangle him the second he opens his mouth? If only he wasn't so damn…_

Several colorful adjectives came to mind, although Hermione had now reached the restricted section and had to focus on searching for any books that could help her. Most of the books in this section were in some way connected to the dark arts or contained extremely advanced magic, so that no first-years or people who couldn't handle it accidentally picked up the book and started performing the spells. Hermione grinned as she saw the battered copy of _Most __Potente__ Potions_, remembering her, Ron, and Harry's using it to brew the Polyjuice Potion in their second year.

Scanning the bookshelves critically, Hermione's heart jumped as she saw several books that she thought could help her. One was a book on Pensieves and Rune Magic, and the other was titled, _Memoryes__ and __Magick_, by Hereward Nightridge. She would have Riddle get both.

Cheerfully, she walked back to where she had left Tom. She found him almost a fifth of the way through the first book, his eyes locked on the pages.

"Tom?" She called, waiting until he looked up from the book. "I found two other books in the restricted section that could help." She told him the titles and authors, and he headed for the front of the library to check out the first book.

"This one is really interesting," he told her out of the corner of his mouth after they passed a group of Hufflepuffs. "There's all sorts of things about pensieves in here I never knew." She didn't know if he was telling her this to irritate her or genuinely inform her.

As they were approaching the front counter, Hermione happily noted that Professor Slughorn was standing in front, conversing with this time's version of Madame Pince. The current library matron was short with steel-grey hair and glasses, and looked like she didn't care one way or the other as Slughorn happily explained a story of an allergic reaction he'd had to a Screechsnap.

"And then it developed interestingly colored scabs, and it's quite contagious, you know… " he trailed off as he caught sight of his favorite pupil. "Tom Riddle! Just doing some late-night studying? I know it's not for Potions," he joked.

"Actually professor, I was just about to ask you for a favor," Tom asked, showing Slughorn the book he carried. "I really wanted to do research on Pensieves, they're very interesting and I thought these books could really help me in a project for my Ancient Runes class." He proceeded to tell Slughorn how he found two other "absolutely fascinating" books in the restricted section, and had intended to go to Slughorn's office first thing the next day to ask for permission to check them out.

_Blech_, Hermione thought with disgust while watching the exchange. How Tom Riddle could appear so _innocent_ was beyond her. He threw in a few reminders about "Potions being my favorite class, but Ancient Runes is so challenging!" Hermione could barely stomach it.

Ironically, Slughorn ate it right up. "Of course, my boy," he told Tom, clapping him on the back. "Let me go get those books for you and check them out." He gave Tom a wink and bounded towards the restricted section, leaving a small pile of Potions-related books on the counter.

Tom met Hermione's eye and gave her a smirk as he noticed her disgusted expression. She crossed her arms, glaring at him in disapproval.

Slughorn returned, holding out the two books to Tom. "Now, Miss Marsh, I'm sure this won't be a problem! The boy's got my permission to check out these books, a little knowledge never hurt anyone!"

As Tom and Hermione left the library, Slughorn picked right back up with his conversation with the librarian. "—And you won't _believe_ the size it got after three days! Never been quite the same after that."

It was getting late as the two of them made it back to the Slytherin common room in relative silence. Hermione refused to talk to him, and instead began humming the song she'd had stuck in her head that evening. She couldn't remember the words, but the melody seemed catchy enough.

"Is that Celestina Warbeck?" Tom asked with amusement as he set the books down on a table in the empty common room. Shocked, Hermione nodded, finally remembering where she'd heard that song.

"How do you know her music?" Hermione asked, curious. Tom shrugged. "She sang at a ball last year. Wasn't really that good." Hermione bit back a snort. _She probably didn't get any better over the years_.

"Here, read this passage," Tom said, gesturing to the first book. He waved his wand and the pages flew to where he had stopped reading. Hermione started reading the section titled, "_The many properties of the __Pensieve_."

_The __pensieve__ is the only known magical device to store and show memories. They are exceptionally powerful in this regard, and cannot be destroyed by conventional means. __Fiendfyre__ and most fatal poisons are also not effective in destroying a __pensieve_

_Once inside a __pensieve__, you observe the memories from a third-person narrative. Time outside of the memory stands still to an extent, as no more than ten or fifteen minutes should pass even for the __most lengthy__ memory_.

_Oh, thank goodness_, Hermione thought as she kept reading.

_If someone enters a __pensieve__ without a clear thought in mind as to which memory stored inside it to enter, the __pensieve__ will pick one at random for you, although it is often the strongest one. In rare cases, people shift back and forth between memories, or in rare cases, experience two memories at once._

_Once inside the memory, you will take on the appearance of a ghost and be able to observe the situation unseen and unheard by all._ (Hermione snorted) _In some rare instances, people have reported that the person __whose__ memory you are observing can see a slight shadow or depression where you are standing._

_Memories are quite precious, so they should be treated with care. Over time, if not stored directly in the __pensieve__, memories can become diluted or otherwise damaged with age, and it is more common for the side-effects mentioned to occur. _

Hermione stopped reading. This said nothing more than what she already knew or had deduced through the last day of thinking about her situation.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," she said, putting her hands on her hips. This book says absolutely nothing useful. Open up the restricted ones." She made a grabbing motion towards the biggest one.

"I'm getting a little tired of your endearments," Tom sneered, the glare returning to his eyes. "Sherlock Holmes, Captain Obvious?"

"Don't forget Sunshine," she added, skimming the next page to see if the information there was important or not. "What should I call _you_ then, hmm?" He asked, clearly angered by the 'Sunshine' comment.

"Let's stay with Hermione, as that _happens_ to be my name," she scoffed, trying to grab the edge of the book with her fingers. No matter how many times she missed, she kept trying, convinced that the next time she could actually grab the book.

"Listen, _sweetheart_," he said, leaning over the table, his voice dangerously low. Hermione began an indignant protest, but Tom cut her off. "I'm tired of putting up with your complaints without even a small show of gratitude."

Hermione was about to retort, "_Just for that I'll wake you up at three in the morning by singing 'A Cauldron full of Hot, Strong Love'" _but decided against it, inwardly cringing at the way that statement would have sounded with the one Tom said before it.

"Fine, thank you," she said dismissively. "Please put a page-turner charm on this one for me?" She pointed to the _Memoryes__ and __Magick_ book. Tom looked like he was going to say something else, but realized that this was all the gratitude Hermione was going to show him. Waving his wand, he headed towards the staircase to his dormitory.

"I set it for ninety seconds," he said before leaving.

_I would have settled with sixty_, Hermione thought with a grin. Although, that would have left her with nothing to do at about four in the morning, and by then she knew more Celestina Warbeck songs would have gotten lodged in her brain. As it was, she was having trouble vacating _A Cau__ldron Full of Hot, Strong __L__ove_ as it replayed over and over in her head. The first page of the book turned, and Hermione sat down at the desk to read it, excited about the potential answers she could find in this book.

_The first __Pensieve__ was created by the Druids, to store memories that they obtained throughout their long lives. The Runes on the base stand for 'eternity,' 'knowledge,' and 'justice,' referring to the principal role of __Pensieves__ at that time during trials. __Pensieves__ served as the primary source of evidence because they are incapable of lying, and it is obvious if a memory has been tampered with due to its smoky nature where it has been changed. _

_Pensieves__ are unique in that they can be used by almost any magical creature. It is unknown if giants have the focus needed to access a __pensieve__, but house-elves, centaurs, and __merpeople__ are capable of using it, although they do not do so regularly._

_Memories are very closely related to dreams, as they both contain the true unalterable facts about a person's past or innate desires or wishes. Dreams often take the shape of a person's memories, and sometimes experiencing an intrusion into the __pensieve__ can take on a dream-like state. _

_Once inside a __p__ensieve__, one takes on the nature similar to that of a ghost. One is unable to eat food or drink, but is affected by much baser elemental __magick__ like wind or rain. __While ghosts are also not capable of feeling pain or crying, memories can do so and experience the whole range of human emotions._

_There have been several cases where people spend most __of their lives living inside a __p__ensieve__, namely to again be with a person who has died. __In this case, some unusual evidence has come up._

_In these cases, the person in question is literally submerged in countless memories, and thus relives whole days or more, depending on the state of their mind and the memories in question. _

Hermione held her breath, waiting for the page to turn so she could read what it said next. She had been sitting in the same position for hours, but her legs never cramped and her eyesight never wavered; signs that she had been reading too long in the past. The page flipped over, and Hermione raced back into the book, brushing aside a stray curl that dangled over her eyes.

_As the person spends an increased amount of time in the __Pensieve__, their body undergoes significant changes. Initially they appear to be like a ghost or shadow, but the longer they remain in the state of memories they are able to transcend the normal limitations of a ghost and obtain almost corporeal status or abilities. It is unknown if their presence is ever noticed by anyone within the memories in question, although as dreams and memories are so closely linked, anything truly is possible._

Hermione's mouth dropped open; there on that creamy vellum page were the words that answered many of her questions, but created just as many new ones.

_Why can Tom only see me? If these are his memories that still shouldn't be enough of a connection. Why can't I leave? What memory is the important one from those countless bottles?_

Suddenly, the page turned, jerking Hermione out of her reverie. "Oh, damn!" she swore, trying to grab the page with her ghostly fingers. _What other important information was on that page_?

She glumly turned back to the book, reading the next section on the similarities and differences between ghosts and memories. _Who cares if ghosts and poltergeists can do simple magic, but people in memories can't? I already knew that, hello._

Two hours later, Hermione finished the book. She was left with an empty feeling inside, like all the important information had been contained in the page she so conveniently didn't read.

_Of course, every other chapter had to reference 'pg 184' in some way_, she thought sarcastically. _I even read the footnotes and index! _Still angry, she moved from the hard-backed chair to a comfortable-looking couch in dark green fabric. She sank into it, suddenly becoming aware of how tired she really was. Looking out the still-dark window, she knew she had nothing more to do but wait for Tom and whatever the next day would bring.

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A/N: Hope you all liked it! I'm trying to write long chapters, hopefully this one answered a few of your questions and created some new ones! I completely made up all the pensieve/memory information, although I think it is a really unexplored facet of the magical universe. I mean, it's so cool that you can separate your memories and stuff, right? I also got most of the Slytherin students' names through a family tree I found on Wikipedia (the answer to everything xD) They might play a semi-important role in the plot, I'm still deciding what to do, I keep changing my mind on where I want to go with this fic. Any comments on where it's going so far would be wonderful!

Love, Kako


	4. Rain and Charcoal

Just wake me up already

Disclaimer: I do not own HP. Don't sue, you won't get much.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for all the hits and reviews I've gotten on this story. My ego is now almost as big as Tom Riddle's! Weeellll…maybe not. Here's the much anticipated chapter four, and just letting everyone know in advance it might be over a week until I can update again, I'm on spring break with little to no internet access, so I can write, but I might not be able to post it till I get back. I hope this extra-long chapter makes up for not updating that quickly!

To all of the fantastic people who reviewed on chapter three: Evelyns Journey, Baby Seal, Cashbutterfly, Nerys, Charming-Lynn, MioneRocks (favorite story and author! You spoil me xD thank you), Sakura Takanouchi, DesiChica007, and TheCresentMoonWriter. 

I hope you all like this chapter! Unresolved tension abounds, so grab yourself a bucket of popcorn and enjoy the show!

----------------------------

_If there's a prize for rotten judgment, I guess I've already won that. _

_No man is worth the aggravation, that's ancient history been there done that.  
_  
_Who ya think your kidding he's the earth and heaven to ya. Try to keep it hidden honey we can see__right through you._

_Girl you can't conceal it, we know how you're feelin' who you're thinking of._

_No chance no way I won't say it no no,  
You swoon you sigh why deny it uh-oh  
Its too cliche, I won't say I'm in love_

_--I won't say (I'm in love) from Disney's_ _Hercules_

_---------------------_

_Recap of Chapter Three:_

_Still angry, she moved from the hard-backed chair to a comfortable-looking couch in dark green fabric. She sank into it, suddenly becoming aware of how tired she really was. Looking out the still-dark window, she knew she had nothing more to do but wait for Tom and whatever the next day would bring._

Chapter Four: Rain and Charcoal

Tom woke up early, suspiciously looking around his room for that irritatingly annoying ghost. He was surprised she hadn't woken him up out of spite, but he supposed she had actually meant her offhanded 'thank you.'

Tom sat back, a bemused smile on his face. Someone had thanked him for something. He decided to savor that feeling before remembering that he had class that day, and Hermione would probably chew his head off until he'd read all the books himself, too. 

His dormitory was empty by now, and Tom dressed and headed downstairs to the common room. When he got there, he looked around for Hermione, surprised she hadn't accosted him yet. When he finally caught sight of her, the corners of his mouth twitched slightly upwards, before his telltale smirk replaced it.

Hermione was sprawled out on the couch in what could hardly be called a comfortable position. She had stretched out and her head was resting on a throw pillow, with her ghostly pale arms dangling off the couch.

She was also asleep.

Curious, Tom started to move closer to her, but thought better of it when the girls sitting on the other end of the couch gave him an odd glance. After all, he'd just been caught smiling at what appeared to be an empty section of the couch. 

_Strange_, he thought. _She said yesterday that she was unable to sleep. I didn't think ghosts slept either, so what could have changed between then and now_?

Hermione rolled over slightly, her ghostly legs and feet passing right through the two girls on the other end of the couch working on what appeared to be Cheering Charms. They must have thought one backfired on him, as they cast him another nervous glance, so Tom instead turned sharply and walked out of the common room, heading for his morning DADA class. 

Two hours later, Hermione woke up, feeling refreshed and well-rested. She stretched lightly before realizing where she was, and nearly jumped in shock when she sat up, gaping like a fish out of water as she realized that she had been sleeping.

She squinted at a wall clock, reading the time. _Sleeping practically the whole morning_, she thought with an embarrassed blush.

She turned expectantly to the table next to her, where the three books still sat. Her curiosity was itching to open up the books and figure out what she had missed, and the other half was wondering if this was what the rest of the book meant when it spoke about 'becoming more corporeal.' 

She stifled a yawn, her blush returning. She'd never slept this late if she could help it, but since she'd gone almost 40 hours without sleep, she felt she deserved this nap.

_Pshh, more like a hibernation than a nap_, she thought as she wondered where Tom was. Slowly, more Slytherin students were walking back through the common room to their dormitories, and Hermione looked up each time, expecting to see Tom among them.

Suddenly, she realized what she'd been doing. _Why do I care so much?_ She huffed, keeping her face impassive as another student walked in. She couldn't help it any longer, and her eyes darted over to the common room entrance, where she saw a familiar blond walking in with an armload of books. _Must be a Malfoy_, Hermione thought condescendingly. His eyes roamed the room, narrowing as he saw the stack of musty old books. Looking closer, he grimaced when he saw the titles and proceeded back up to his dormitory.

Hermione crossed her legs, resisting the urge to check the clock every couple minutes. She was tapping her foot impatiently, deciding whether or not to go find Tom Riddle and drag him back to this room to read these books and help her decipher them. While on the surface the books seemed deceptively simple, but Hermione refused to give up hope that there could have been some way to send her back hidden in the pages.

_Let's face it, Tom's not exactly the best company_, she thought sarcastically. She continued musing about the black-haired Slytherin. 

_He has more mood swings than Lavender on a bad day_, she thought with a suppressed laugh. _He goes from 'innocent' to angry to confusing to almost bearable to charming to…_ she trailed off, thinking about the proper word.

_Last night he was definitely __**not**__ charming_, she thought, her mood dampened. And she still didn't think she'd even seen a glimpse of the real Tom, the Tom behind the masks and layers he put up around his professors and the rest of the school. And frankly, she wasn't sure if she even wanted to know. 

The foot tapping increased in intensity, and Hermione contemplated all the various ways she could kill that Slytherin if he didn't show up right that instant. She was currently remembering about the enchanted bludgers when a hand waved in front of her face.

Surprised, Hermione glanced around, glaring when she saw Tom standing next to her, his smirk firmly in place as he ridiculed her. "Why were you glaring at that lamp?" He asked, pointing to one in front of them. 

She shot him a look of annoyance, and instead pointed to the thick book on the table. "Page 184. Now."

Tom's eyebrow rose at her tone, and, like it was even possible, his smirk widened further. "Eloquent as always, I see. Pray tell, how did you manage to miss a page?"

Hermione glowered, mumbling something about '_damn page-turning charm_' while she avoided meeting Tom's eyes. 

_Tsk_-ing, Tom picked up the book, lifting it in front of her face as he turned, leaning against the wall as he opened the pages.

Hermione opened her mouth in protest when the book sailed right over her head, making a grabbing motion for it as Tom whisked it away from her. "Nope," he said, supporting the heavy book with both 

hands. "You've missed your chance. I'm reading it now." She didn't even need to look to see the triumphant grin on his face.

"Give it back!" She cried, jumping out of the couch. He wasn't playing fair, so if it came to that, neither would she. Tom's interest only seemed to fuel her curiosity. 

She lunged at him, glaring as he raised the book higher, flipping the pages with his wand till it stopped around a third of the way through. 

As Hermione raised her hands to try and grab the book, Tom had to smile at her persistence. _Or stupidity_, he reminded himself. She knew she couldn't touch it, so why was she even trying? Was it to annoy him?

He grinned down at her, which only made Hermione more aggravated. It wasn't even that hard for him, as the top of Hermione's head could barely brush Tom's chin, and she was standing on tiptoes.

Tom felt the ghostly brush of a lock of her hair against his neck, and stepped aside, unnerved. It didn't feel like how normal hair should, but then again, it felt like _something_, and that should've been physically impossible.Suddenly, the lock clicked into place. The sleeping, the ghostly shiver-feeling of her hair: somehow, something strange was happening to her. And he now knew that information was contained inside that book, and in the page she so helpfully specified earlier.

"Sorry, dear," he said, earning another squawk of protest from Hermione. "I think I'll just hang onto this book for awhile," he winked at her, then tried to move towards the stairwell. 

Unfortunately for him, Hermione blocked the way, crossing her arms as she glared at him. 

Tom tried to move around her, but Hermione moved with him, keeping her eyes locked on his. She knew he didn't want to have to walk through her, the thought was creepy enough but with the new added sensation he got from just feeling her hair, he didn't even want to know what walking through her might feel like. 

"Move, Hermione," he asked coldly, walking closer to her. He could sense the fear emanating from her small frame, and knew by using her real name rather than some cute endearment he could unnerve her further and give her nothing to be angry at him for, thus taking control of the situation.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione resorted to glaring at Tom, crossing her arms petulantly as she tried to think of some witty comeback. When Tom took another step closer, all coherent thoughts fled her brain as she stood her ground, refusing to back down for him.

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Tom took another step, the book tucked safely under one arm. His chin was now level with her forehead, and her bushy hair would brush his ear if he chose to lean forward.

He smirked again. She had avoided making eye contact with him, and her eyes were fluttering back and forth around a spot to his left. _Well, a little intimidation should put her in her place._

Tom leaned down slightly, so his mouth was mere inches away from her right ear. His hair fell into his eyes slightly, but he didn't feel like brushing it away just yet. He let the corners of his mouth tug up in a grin; for once the Gryffindor was speechless. 

Tom was about to say something, when he suddenly caught a strange scent. It seemed to be coming from her hair, but the more he concentrated on it he realized that it seemed to come from Hermione herself. The scent was clean like a rainfall, mixed with a dash of something citrus.

Tom inhaled again. Yes, it was definitely lemons. Tom stopped, momentarily forgetting what he was even going to say. One second he was going to say something dashing, whisk past her and read whatever was written on the page of the book she'd missed, and the next he was trying to cover the fact that he was enjoying the gentle scent of her hair.

_Rewind_, Tom berated himself mentally. _I do not enjoy smelling her hair. It's just a little intimidation. Nothing more_.

"You know, we should get to Potions class soon," Tom whispered, grinning as all of the built-up tension completely fell apart. He shot her an amused grin at her flustered appearance, before turning on his heel and walking towards the common room entrance, picking up his satchel of books on the way out.

Hermione recovered fast, letting in the gulp of air she'd been holding in since he'd moved closer than a ruler's length away. She grinned, realizing what he just said. If anything, at least she'd have the last laugh.

"We?" She asked imperiously, raising an eyebrow. Tom turned, momentarily confused before he scowled. "And here I thought you didn't want me around," she joked, stepping past him and floating through the common room door.

As soon as she had left Tom nearly smacked his head in annoyance. How did that little 'we' slip out? As long as he knew it had always been just him—just Tom and no one else. And now he had to go and include that _ghost_ in something?

_Memory_, his brain corrected. He groaned mentally; after _that_ little slipup of the tongue she was going to be insufferable during Potions class. _Hopefully she'll have forgotten about the book_, he thought before walking out of the common room and heading towards Potions, letting Hermione lead the way and not saying a word to either her or any of the other students he passed in the hall.

They arrived shortly, Tom walking sullenly into class, giving the other Slytherin students nods of his head in acknowledgement as he took his usual seat. Hermione sat next to him in an open seat, drumming her fingers on the table as she stared at him expectantly. 

_Isn't he going to say anything_? She thought in confusion as she tried not to let that same emotion show on her face. _What had happened to get him so broody and quiet_?

"Speechless, Tom?" Hermione asked, the wicked smile back on her face. She could deal with an angry or evil Slytherin, but a moody one? That was a different matter entirely.

_Well, a happy and cheerful Tom would probably be scarier_, she thought as her grin widened. While it made a hilarious mental image, if his personality changed even slightly she'd have no idea how to handle him. As long as she only thought of him as 'the future Lord Voldemort,' she was safe. She could continue to yell at him, hate him, despise him for everything he'd ever do in the future.

_Well, technically, he hasn't done any of those things yet_, a tiny voice that sounded suspiciously like her conscience whispered into Hermione's brain.

Hermione noticed Tom had resorted to glaring at her when Slughorn walked into the classroom, waving his wand at the blackboard in the front of the room.

"We're going to be making a very difficult potion today!" Slughorn said like he couldn't be happier. "This is beyond NEWT-level, but I felt you all needed to be challenged a little more," he continued, to the undisguised groans and coughs of the students.

Hermione was slightly interested, but knew a higher-difficulty potion would give her even more chances to distract Tom. She read the list of potion ingredients on the board, instinctively adding them up in her mind to try and figure out which potion Slughorn had asked them to make. There was already a finished cauldron of the potion on Slughorn's desk, and she studied it warily. _Hey, this looks familiar_, she thought as Slughorn's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Amortentia!" He said gleefully, saying the name himself where he would normally have called on a student to answer the question. "Now, get to work! And don't be distraught if it doesn't come out correctly, this is a very difficult potion to brew!"

Slowly, Tom got up to retrieve his potion ingredients. He gritted his teeth, not wanting to know what Hermione had planned for this class. It had been hard enough the last time, and Tom didn't think he could make it through another round of that. 

Back in her chair, Hermione was mulling over her options. _Let's see…option one, I can sing more Celestina Warbeck songs, _that's_ surely annoying…option two, I can act like Luna and tell Tom all about the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack_. She bit back a snort just thinking about it. _There's no possible way I could keep a straight face through that_. 

Already she was noticing subtle differences in her interaction with the rest of the memory that she didn't have yesterday or the day before. She could _feel_ more, she felt more a part of this time than she ever had before. She could _sleep_, she could lightly feel the grain of the oak desk before her fingers passed through it, and she could— 

She lost her train of thought as suddenly, a dozen different cauldrons all began to prepare the potion at the same time. Already she could sense the presence of the one in the front of the classroom, as an 

oversized spoon seemed to happily whisk the ingredients around. Each of the ingredients for the potion was so potent to her that she could barely think straight.

_Damn Slughorn_, she thought as she clenched the sides of her head in her hands. _Damn Amortentia, and damn Tom Riddle_.

Speaking of the devil, Tom had returned to the table, and was about ready to start the potion. Either he was a better actor than Hermione gave him credit for, or that dratted potion did not affect him as strongly as it did her.

She had never noticed how her sense of smell had returned to her that morning, but all of a sudden she was assaulted with the heady smell of the brewing potion. After only ever smelling it once in her life, Hermione already knew what it appeared like for her.

_Freshly mown grass, and new parchment, and something else strange that I can't quite name_, she thought as she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. _How in the hell am I supposed to be getting back at Tom if I can't even keep myself together_?

Tom had been keeping a stoically detached look about his face as he went about brewing the potion, inwardly curious as to why Hermione had yet to start interfering with the Potion.

He gave the girl a cursory glance. _She looks like she has a hangover_, he noted amusedly. Tom continued chopping potion ingredients and adding different plants and roots, stirring the potion halfheartedly. _So this is her plan, to give me the silent treatment_?

Five minutes later, and he realized that the silent treatment was indeed worse than her constant interference the other day. Now he was wary that she was going to surprise him at any moment, and he didn't know what to expect, from more tongue-twisters to reciting the steps for preparing _spinach florentine_ while he'd try to remember the order of the steps of the potion. 

_Amortentia is not the freaking strongest potion in the world for nothing_, Hermione thought, looking apprehensively at the cauldron barely two feet from her nose. She closed her eyes tightly against the onslaught of emotions close proximity to the potion brought on, but found it harder and harder to resist as she fought to stay awake. 

Suddenly, the aroma of Tom's nearly finished potion flooded her nostrils. She breathed in the rich scent, frowning at the combination. _Grass, parchment, and an odd woodsy smell, like burning charcoal or a cut redwood tree_, she thought, inhaling again. She let a small contented sigh escape her lips before her eyes fluttered open again. Coming to her senses, she glared at the cauldron apprehensively. _Damn that potion! There's a reason it's illegal in my time! _

Her thoughts cleared as a familiar green-clothed arm reached across the table in front of her, grabbing a small vial of Diligo syrup that was shared between everyone at the large table. Tom pulled the bottle back, leaning closer to the table as he slowly poured three drops of the solution into the cauldron. 

Tom had gone from being suspicious to curious to just plain weirded-out. The girl hadn't said a _single_ word so far, and he wasn't sure why. When he had reached for the bottle, he was sure she was going to jump out of the stool and scream "boo!" or "merry christmas!" or something else that would cause him to jump or accidentally knock something over. _She has these perfect opportunities, so _why_ isn't she using them?_

Hermione leaned closer to the potion unconsciously, at the same time battling with her senses to want to get closer to the alluring scent and to get as far away as possible at the same time. She felt a sudden brush of fabric against her cheek and looked up in shock to see Tom leaning over the cauldron again, studying the smoky spirals that were slightly darker than their supposed 'mother-of-pearl sheen.'

"Sorry," she mumbled as she jerked back, her reaction time slowed by the numbing effect of the potion. Hermione moved back in her chair, her fingers gripping the edge of the stool as Tom reached for a spoon to stir the potion. 

Suddenly, she caught a whiff of a strange fragrance. Tom's arm was practically brushing her own, and she realized that it was coming from him. 

_It smells good_, she thought, fighting to stay focused through the haze of scents assaulting her senses. _Kind of like burning charcoal, a little earthy and woody…_

Suddenly she shot up in her seat, uncomfortably aware of the sudden clarity of her mind.

_Oh my God._

_OH. MY. GOD._

_WHAT the HELL is wrong with me?_

_I can't honestly like it THAT much. It's not possible. _

While Hermione was having an internal mental battle, Tom had almost finished his cauldron of amortentia. He was adding the finishing touches, the leaves, petals, and thorns from one perfect rose. He tossed them in, stirring the potion as they dissolved.

_It's not like this means anything_, Hermione thought again, sneaking a glance at Tom. His back was to her as he rolled a rose petal in his fingers before tossing it into the cauldron.

_Yes. It just means that I like the way he smells._

_WHAT the HELL does _THAT _mean_?

Her conscience was losing the battle against her mind as Hermione struggled to find some logic in the situation. The scent of amortentia changed for each person who smelled it, and for Hermione, it happened to smell like Tom Riddle.

_Vaguely like Tom, _she tried to convince herself. _It could be something else. And I can still smell the parchment and grass. Tom's scent comes last_.

_Save the best for last, eh_? A tiny part of her brain responded snarkily. Hermione buried her face in her hands, wishing that she could have gone her whole life without ever smelling that potion.

Meanwhile, Tom removed the spoon from his cauldron, satisfied with the finished state of his potion. Smirking, he cast a quick look around the dungeon classroom: his was by far the best.

_As always_, he thought. Remembering what he had read about the tricky potion, Tom leaned into the rich vapors rising from the cauldron, breathing in the spirals as he wondered what it would smell like to him. The cauldron at the front of the classroom had been too far to get any more than a comforting sensation just from its presence.

_Mmm, _Tom hummed, breathing in deeply. _It smells like a waterfall, or rain coming down on a forest. It's very light and clean, _he thought with surprise.

_There's a little bit of citrus in there too_, he thought, searching through the different layers of the smell of the potion. _A bit like lemons_—

_Wait just one second_.

He cast a quick glance at Hermione, who again had her face buried in her hands. His eyes widened in realization while he tried to find any sort of reasoning to explain the source rather than the one in front of him.

_Great Salazar's ghost, _SHE_ smells like citrus and rain_, he thought accusingly as he tried to resist inhaling the vapors of the potion again. He was unsuccessful, as it seemed to be almost instinctual. Cursing his nose, he half-wished he didn't have one so he would never have smelled that vile concoction.

_Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh._

Hermione was still unable to get through the shock of realizing that apparently _Tom Riddle_ smelled like what she found appealed the most to her. She could understand the other scents; she had always taken comfort in the smell of clean parchment, and freshly mown grass always reminded her of her family and summer and the endless afternoons where she could do whatever she wanted.

_But __**Riddle**__? I can't see that one_, she thought sadly. 

Unbeknownst to her, Tom was having the exact same conversation with himself.

_How in the hell can I find that mudblood attractive? _He thought, trying not to let his frustration show on his face. 

_Wait, no one ever said anything about finding her attractive_, he tried to remind himself, searching for any other possibility than the obvious truth that was bubbling away happily in the cauldron in front of him. _This just means that she appeals to me for some reason_.

_Might as well be the same thing_, his brain shot back sarcastically. 

_Well,_ he sighed, before bottling a small amount of the potion to take up to Slughorn along with every other student in the class. _At least she never has to know about it._

_At least _he _doesn't know about this_, Hermione thought miserably. She noticed him cleaning up, and stood up quickly, hurrying out of the classroom. She really didn't want to talk to Tom right now, because all she could think about was that stupid potion. She needed to take a walk and clear her head, and then _maybe_ she would confront him again. After all, he still had that book.

Tom was glad when he noticed Hermione leaving out of the corner of his eye. He expected her to follow him, or start talking about the memory book, but he was glad she didn't. He didn't think he could handle talking to her right now, because all he would think about would be that potion. He had probably ran over the sentence '_It smells like HER!' _twenty times so far, just in case it hadn't sunk in yet. 

Slughorn smiled appreciatively as Tom grabbed his books and headed for the door to the classroom before calling out, "remember about the Slug Club party next weekend! My star pupil has to be there, it'll be the event of the year!"

Tom promised to come, then left, heading straight for the kitchens. He needed _some_ kind of food to clear his mind, and he felt surprisingly hungry after leaving that class. He decided to take an early dinner to-go, and then eat in the room of requirement while he read that book on memories. 

Hermione had taken a nice long walk around practically the entire castle of Hogwarts, trying to think about anything other than what had just happened in Potions class. In a situation like this, she wanted desperately to have _someone_ to confide in and ask for advice, but she knew what her friends would have said about the potion's effect.

And now just getting a glimpse of what her corporeal status was made Hermione wish for it all the more. Knowing that she could sleep and smell things made her all the more appreciative of the little things she took for granted in life and how quickly they could be ripped from you and then returned in the strangest of ways. She noticed the rapidly setting sun, and decided that she better confront Tom sooner rather than later. Just like ripping off a bandage, she just needed to get this over with. If she waited any longer, he might suspect something was different.

_Well, it is_, she mused, biting her bottom lip. _I need to act normally. If he knew about the potion's effect to me, he'd never let me hear the end of it. He'd hold it over me and no amount of early wake-up calls could make up for that._

In the room of requirement, Tom fingered the edge of the book while he chewed thoughtfully on one half of a turkey sandwich. He swallowed, then flipped the front cover open, smirking as he remembered how Hermione had volunteered all of the information he needed. 

_Page 182, 183…here we go, 184_, he thought, flipping the pages. He skimmed his finger over the printed text before coming to the start of a new section titled, "_Memoryes in Permanence._"

Intrigued, he began reading, wondering why this could have been so important to her. The section before was on corporeal assumption, and he knew that she had begun experiencing some of the effects listed in the book. He also knew she hadn't gotten to this page, so he figured she assumed it held the keys to further progressing back to her reality. _Memories in permanence, indeed_, he thought sarcastically.

_There are several different stages in memory preservation, starting with the simple exchange of memories in a pensieve that are very short-lived, and the memory in intact completion stays with the giver and an identical copy with the receiver in the pensieve._

_The second stage involves much accelerated preservation. The most common form, the second-stage memories can be stored directly inside a pensieve or apart in separate containers. These are created with much more energy, but the memories inside are more durable and can survive for decades or even centuries without degradation. While the main form of the memory still resides within the giver, they use their magic to create an exact identical copy to be viewed inside the pensieve or stored, so the memory has much greater strength and often holds a higher importance to the giver or receiver in general. _

_The third and greatest stage in memory preservation is the stage of permanence. These "permanent memories" take colossal amounts of energy to extract, but completely remove the memory from the giver's mind. These memories are immortal and can outlive any human or creature lifetime. These memories are as permanent as magic itself, so they are almost like completely separate entities. _

_Not many of these memories are in existence because it takes so much energy to extract them and also because the caster would have no knowledge of the memory after extraction. Similar to a self-casted 'Obliviate' charm, the memory in question is permanently removed, but also permanently preserved. While these memories can be again viewed by the person who extracted them, it is not often done because the person has no knowledge of ever extracting the memories so they do not know the significance the memory may have had for them. _

_Because of limited availability of this stage of memories, knowledge of effects is limited. Further testing is being researched, and further editions of this text will contain updated information._

_Ha, further editions? _Tom thought, turning the page to find a new section on '_Perspectives on Memoryes' _which he pointedly ignored. _This book is from the 18__th__ century. If there was going to be another edition, Nightridge must have mastered immortality. Why did Hermione think this information was so important?_

He closed the book, keeping it balanced on his lap as he lifted up his half-finished sandwich. He took another bite, thinking back to earlier that day. Surely the girl was plotting something to be avoiding him all day, and he wanted to find out why.

By now Hermione had wandered to the seventh floor, and knew by the frame on the usually empty wall that someone was using the room of requirement. She had a suspicion it was Tom, and passed through the solid stone, coming back into the bright room she remembered. 

"Where the hell is she?" Tom muttered, wanting to squish the remainder of the sandwich in his hands.

"I'm not in hell, Tom, I'm right here," Hermione said from across the room. Tom looked up in surprise as she floated across and sank down into a chair opposite from him.

_Could've fooled me_, Tom thought as he took another bite of his sandwich. _You've turned _my _world upside down for sure_. Realizing how _wrong_ his thoughts sounded, he panicked, reassuring himself _not like THAT, you gutter dweller!_

Hermione watched Tom eat, realizing how long it had been since she had last had food. _At least fifty hours, if not more_, she thought, staring at the sandwich. _I want one…_

Tom had noticed that peculiar sensation one gets when they know that someone is staring at them, and cast a suspicious glance at Hermione. Sure enough, she was unblinkingly staring at his mouth. He swallowed, unnerved. _What is she DOING?_

"Um, why are you staring at me?" Tom asked, trying to project confidence in his voice instead of panic. _Sure, I'm used to girls staring at me_, he reassured himself. _Then WHY does it feel so weird?_

"I miss food," she answered matter-of-factly, like _that_ justified everything. "I'm living vicariously through you. Keep eating."

Yup, he was unnerved now. If it wasn't for the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, Tom would've put down the sandwich and walked out of there. Lifting the other half of the sandwich to his mouth, he took a bite, trying to savor the feeling. Instead, the turkey tasted like sawdust and the lettuce stuck to the roof of his mouth. Licking his lips clean, Tom became aware that Hermione's stare had increased in intensity. 

_Merlin, she looks like she wants to eat _me_ instead! _He thought, stricken. _Surely food can't be that great, I mean, I'm sure I wouldn't miss it this much!_

Fully unnerved now, he hastily put down the sandwich, noticing her downcast pout. Her eyes followed the sandwich instead of him, and Tom didn't know whether to feel relieved or insulted. He settled for a combination of the two, and tried to think of something to change the conversation to. _Even that book would be preferable._

"So, I've read page 184," Tom said smugly, watching Hermione's eyes darken with satisfaction. 

All thoughts of sandwiches and eating vanished as Hermione's appetite for food was replaced with a craving for knowledge. "What was on it?" She demanded, on the edge of her seat.

Tom noticed her anticipation. _Like she honestly believes I'll tell her. This could be fun_.

"Sorry, dear," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't find it all that useful, I believe it had something to do with memories, and preservation, or something like that," he said offhandedly, watching her hands tighten into fists with amusement. 

"It was important," she said with finality, standing up from her chair and pacing across the floor in front of a giant fireplace. "It had something to do with _this_," she gestured to herself with both hands and resumed her pacing.

Slightly confused, Tom cocked his head to one side. "What about _that_?" He asked, mimicking her tone of voice.

"I'm…changing," she told him like it was obvious. "I can sleep now, I can…" she trailed off, not wanting to open that can of worms by letting him know exactly _how_ she discovered the resurfacing of her sense of smell.

"My senses are returning," she added. Tom leaned forward slightly in his chair, musing. "I have noticed that you look less…ghosty." He cringed at the last word, but he was telling the truth. Her arms were still slightly transparent, but he could see her more clearly than he had ever been able to do over the past several days. 

"And quit your pacing, you're giving me a headache," Tom said, standing up as Hermione spun around, putting her hands on her hips as she glared at him. "Tell me what was on that page and I'll stop," she said as Tom moved closer to her, a glare to match her own. 

"I don't think I will," he said with a smirk, his voice low in his throat as he moved the book from his chair to a side table.

"Then I don't think I'll stop pacing," she reasoned, her voice as irritatingly cheerful as she could manage. Hermione smirked back, and turned to start pacing again, making her movements as exaggerated as she could. 

She turned at the end of the fireplace and was making her way back towards him when Tom snapped. "Will you stop that already?" He growled, moving forward and grabbing her roughly by her upper left arm.

Hermione's mouth dropped open when she realized what he was doing. Not because of the pain from Tom jerking her away from the track she was boring in the floor, but because his hand felt warm against her skin. _I can feel him_, she thought, not sure whether to be happy or terrified.

It took Tom longer to realize what he had been doing, and then he glanced back from her arm to her eyes, unmasked shock evident on his face as well. He was still holding on to her arm, and Hermione was about to ask for it back when Tom did something she never expected would ever happen. 

He jerked her even closer to him, leaned forward, and kissed her.

Hermione was frozen in shock as Tom captured her lips with his own, her arm still held harshly in his grip. _The first thing he can do when he can touch me is kiss me! What…how…why…?_

She realized that their contact worked both ways, and she could also touch him in return. She did the first thing that her instinct prompted her to do. 

She hit him with her free hand, slapping him as hard as she could muster and ran from the room, passing through the stone frame of the door as she tried not to let the tears stream from her eyes. She kept running, not caring anymore where she went as long as she got as far away as she possibly could. 

--------------------

…_At least out loud I won't say I'm in love_.

--------------------

A/N: I hope this LONG chapter more than makes up for the wait! I hope you all liked it, I love writing their confrontations and this scene really made me laugh just to write. I hope I'm not taking their relationship _too_ fast, but don't worry, the next chapter will have even _more_ drama. (like that's even possible xD)

I used the song from Hercules to open and close this chapter because I thought it tied in well (and the line, "we can see right through you" applies too xD) I don't own the song or the movie, and I'm not sure if I'm going to do that for future chapters unless I find songs that fit. 

I'd also like to thank everyone who's reviewed so far (and alerted/favorited!), I've never gotten this many reviews on a story before and every time I get one it literally makes my day. To the reader: if you liked my story, I'd love to know. I can help answer questions if you have any, or clarify certain parts if you're unsure about anything. I'd love to get 30 reviews by the next chapter (It'll help me get it finished faster! xD)

Love, Kako


	5. Riddles and Conundrums

Just let me Wake Up already

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I don't own HP. And believe me, I check often.

A/N: Woww! Maybe I should hold all my chapters for ransom, I can't believe all of the reviews I got! A big THANK YOU to everyone who commented on the last chapter, I'm glad it was so well received. I was motivated to get this out faster than I'd originally planned, and after that cliffhanger I didn't want to torture anyone by waiting any longer to post this. 

Hugs to: TheCresentMoonWriter, Punkey-Monkey, MioneRocks, Vera-Sabe (twice! xD), vinz112, JeralC, riddleandme, 3rdplanet, Evelyns Journey, irene0222, RandomReader, Xevenof9, Sakura Takanouchi, and 00Jade. thanks for your support!

Riddleandme and RandomReader: While she's becoming corporeal, she's still invisible to everyone else. It's just Tom who's the lucky one xD

Also, a happy Easter and belated St. Patrick's Day to everyone!

This chapter is dedicated to Vera-Sabe. Thank you for your fantastic review!

* * *

_Are you aware of what you make me feel, baby?  
Right now I feel invisible to you like I'm not real.  
Didn't you feel me lock my arms around you?  
Why'd you turn away? _

_But every time I try to make you smile  
You always go on feeling sorry for yourself  
Every time I try to make you laugh  
You can't  
You're too tough  
You think you're loveless_

_Is that too much that I'm asking for?_

_--Avril Lavigne, "Losing Grip" and "Too much to ask"_

* * *

_Recap of Chapter Four:_

_She hit him with her free hand, slapping him as hard as she could muster and ran from the room, passing through the stone frame of the door as she tried not to let the tears stream from her eyes. She kept running, not caring anymore where she went as long as she got as far away as she possibly could. _

Chapter Five: Riddles and Conundrums

Tom Riddle should've seen this coming.

He also should've guessed how strong she was; he'd have a red mark on his face for awhile.

_But what about the bruise on her arm, I think she was more than justified to return the favor_, the annoying Jiminy Cricket-like conscience voice whispered in Tom's head. 

Tom would never admit it, but he had been so unfocused when she hit him because he had been lost in the moment. Lost in the feel of her smooth skin beneath his rough fingertips, and lost in the feel of her lips against his own. _Didn't she notice those feelings, too_?

_Obviously not_.

He didn't even know what had possessed him to kiss her in the first place. One minute, they were yelling at each other, and the next, shocked into silence when they discovered the return of another of Hermione's senses. And the next, he had kissed her.

_Don't pretend you didn't want to know what it was like_, his conscience-voice persisted. _Ever since you smelled that Amortentia potion, you wanted to know what she was to you. You wanted to know what she could be._

He lifted one hand to lightly brush his cheek, wincing at the stinging pain. He turned, examining the mark in the large mirror against one wall in the room. _Yup, that'll be there for awhile_.

He lifted his wand and was about to heal the bruise, when he lowered it, instead sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs and pulling the book from the table into his lap. He opened the cover, determined to learn all he could about memories and what exactly was happening.

* * *

Hermione had kept running, suddenly finding herself in a tower on another wing of the seventh floor. Running up another small flight of stairs, she discovered that she was in Gryffindor Tower. While a different portrait hung in the place of the Fat Lady, she recognized the location from the familiar view out of a window opposite the portrait. 

Smiling slightly, she decided to take some comfort in the familiarity of the tower. Quickly passing through the wall, she found herself in the red and gold splendor of the Gryffindor common room. It was currently empty, which made Hermione for a moment forget that she had even gone back inside the Pensieve. It was easy to believe that this was the same room she had always known as she sank into a couch on one side of the fireplace and finally let out her tears.

She was so _angry_ at Tom. If he hadn't kissed her, she probably would've been happy that she could finally touch someone. If he hadn't kissed her, she could have probably wormed the information about page 184 out of him.

If he hadn't kissed her, then she would have never known how wonderful it felt.

And that scared her even more. 

Hermione wiped the tears from her face with the sleeve of her robe, determined to pull herself together. She was confused, and once again, she felt alone.

_Why did he have to do that?_ She thought, rubbing her hands over her arms for warmth. Even though she was close to the fire, she couldn't feel any of its warmth. She cringed when her right arm rubbed over the bruise on her arm when Tom had grabbed her. She withdrew her hand, grateful when the sharp pain abated quickly. She didn't need any more reminders of him. 

_Still, I don't understand it. And it's not like I can ask him what the hell was running through his mind when he decided to lose all coherent thought and stop thinking. _

She let her head rest against a pillow, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to clear her mind of everything that had happened that day. She tried to relax, but she was tense all over.

What seemed like several hours later, Hermione sat up again, disgruntled. It was almost completely dark out, and she couldn't get to sleep. Frowning, she glanced around the room again. Several people were clustered in armchairs in the center of the room, all working on papers or reading textbooks. Hermione wanted to cry again, if only because this had been one of the worst days of her life. Discovering that _Tom Riddle_ somehow appealed to her enough to be one of the scents for her in the strongest love potion in the world, and then becoming corporeal, and getting the best kiss of her life, but for all the wrong reasons. 

_He just wants to control me, like he does with everything else_, Hermione thought with a tiny spark of anger. _He doesn't feel anything for me, he just wants to use me and then he'll toss me aside._

_But why does that bug me so much? It's not like I feel anything for him other than intense rage and anger_, she thought. Turning aside, she crossed her legs and fumed. _He can do whatever the hell he wants. I don't care about him anymore_.

Running through her thoughts a second time, she crossed her arms too. _I never cared about him anyways. Ever. _

_And did I say that was the best kiss of my life? Viktor can top that any day_. She slowly tried to convince herself that Tom was an ugly idiot, and reminded herself that he was, oh yes, a _Slytherin_. Therefore, off limits. Not that she was ever interested to begin with. Of course not. 

_Not, not, not_, she repeated. _How could I be interested in someone who has no heart? And besides, it's not like any relationship with him will go anywhere. _

She vowed that she would never 'interact' with Tom again. She would tolerate him only to get information from the books about Pensieves and try to find some way to get home before the memories ran out. And now, she had no idea how long that would take. _Could be months, could be longer_, she thought grimly. 

And tomorrow she would give him a piece of her mind. If he thinks she'd just melt in his arms after what he did, he had another thing coming. She clenched her hands into fists. _If I have to, I'll give him a black eye to match the handprint on his gorgeous face_.

_Gorgeous? __I meant ugly as a toad. Or a snake_, she thought as an idea popped into her head. _He's Lord Voldemort. Just think of him like that. Inside he's the same cruel relentless bastard, but in this time he's just easier on the eyes. _

Hermione clenched her eyes shut tightly again, determined not to think about this or _any_ form of Tom Riddle. _He's occupied enough of my thoughts lately, _she thought. Standing up, she moved to stand behind the chair of a Gryffindor sixth-year who was reading their Transfiguration textbook. She read over their shoulder, and even though she knew the material by heart, concentrated as hard as though she'd never read a book before in her life. 

* * *

Tom finished the book, letting the back cover fall closed with a resounding thud. He leaned back in the chair, rubbing one hand over his temple. He had a slight headache, and he had no idea where it had come from. He let his gaze fall on the unfinished sandwich on a plate on a table to his left, but couldn't bring himself to finish it. He just wasn't hungry anymore. 

Tom reflected on the book he had just read, and one passage in particular. He opened his mouth, intending to ask Hermione a question about chapter twelve (_Paradoxes in Time and Space_) but remembered that she was no longer there. 

With nothing more to read, Tom's thoughts began to stray back to Hermione and what had happened between them. _That kiss felt so right_. 

His headache intensified as he thought more about the fiery brunette witch. She had the power to affect him like no other. While everyone else around him seemed to either fear him or seemed blinded by his brilliance, she did neither. She had brains to match his own and stood up to him. 

_Although if magic were involved, I'm sure she would act differently_, he mused, twirling his yew wand between his fingers, his habit whenever he thought about anything even remotely profound. 

_Who am I kidding, she'd hex me into oblivion if she got half a chance_, he thought with a wry smile. _Not like I would even give her one-tenth of a chance. Still,_ _I think I prefer the slap_.

Lightly touching his cheek again, he was relieved when he no longer felt the burning pain. Checking his reflection quickly in the large mirror, he could see that the skin had almost completely returned to normal. He paused probably a few seconds longer than necessary to check his hair, then grabbed the book and left the room, returning to the Slytherin house dormitories. He didn't expect instant forgiveness from Hermione, but he did expect to see her in the common room, doing her best to ignore him. He was surprised when he couldn't see her anywhere in the cavernous room, but decided to put her out of his mind and just go to sleep. 

* * *

It was a _long_ night for Hermione. She had been unable to get to sleep, whether it was from stress or just lack of exhaustion she didn't know, but she had been sitting on the couch in the Gryffindor common room all night, trying to bore a hole through the wall with her glare. 

One of the students had left their Charms book open on the table in front of her, but reading the same page over and over again got boring for Hermione after only a few minutes. It was almost five o'clock in the morning, and she couldn't stand the silence any longer. 

_I want to go home RIGHT NOW_, Hermione fumed, again crossing her arms. Her thoughts were interrupted though by the sound of hushed whispering from the staircase to the dormitories.

"Be quiet, Susan!" One girl whispered harshly as a group of four girls tramped loudly down the stair, all '_shhhh_'-ing the others. "Be quiet! Someone _could_ be up early!" Another girl said, elbowing Susan in the arm. 

"No one's down here," a blond girl said, looking around the room. "Although Septimus left all his books down here." She closed the cover of the Charms book.

Now Hermione was intrigued. She had no idea what these girls were all doing down here so early, and stood up to follow them as one by one they trooped out of the portrait hole. 

_They're not technically out after hours_, Hermione thought. _More like before them_, she added disapprovingly. But she was bored, and anything short of watching someone's pet toad sleep in the common room would keep her entertained. Which she had been forced to do for some time earlier that night. 

They all looked to be either sixth or seventh years, and Hermione listened with halfhearted interest as they gossiped while walking to _wherever_ they were going. They stopped outside of an empty classroom on the fifth floor, right past the prefect's bathroom. 

They walked into the classroom, and Hermione was really starting to get curious about what they were doing. She floated right through the door after them, and watched in surprise as they walked up to a small closet in the back corner of the room. "Do you suppose they've discovered the hole yet?" One girl with short brunette hair asked as another declaimed cheerily about the wonders of early-morning Ravenclaw quidditch practice. 

_What on Earth are they doing?_ Hermione thought in confusion as the pieces finally clicked into place.

"Aw, Michael got there early!" One complained as she looked through a hole in the wall.

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or walk away, scandalized. She supposed she should have been listening to the girl's gossip before she walked all the way down here. Apparently, on Friday mornings, the Ravenclaw quidditch team had an early morning practice, and the quidditch captain took a bath before that. And the girls had discovered that.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She wasn't _that_ bored. And she didn't care _how_ hot that quidditch player was, no matter how often those girls kept repeating that fact. 

"Hey, at least Myrtle isn't up here this time," one of the girls joked. "Yeah, but she doesn't need this anymore. She can just float right through the wall." The girls said it like it was a blessing. 

Hermione snorted. She knew that Myrtle had spied on Harry while he was in the prefect's bathroom working on the egg from the Triwizard Tournament, but never would have guessed that she'd been doing it for years. 

She was about to walk away when she heard the sharp intake of breath from the girl currently occupying the quarter-sized hole in the wall. "Hey ladies, looks like we're getting a double feature today!" She said gleefully.

_Who is it this time? Some other school 'celebrity?' _Hermione thought sarcastically. She'd had enough of this; even Lavender and Parvati weren't _this_ bad. True, they gossiped like crazy, but it was easy to tune out, and they never went _this_ far. At least if they did, they never told her about it. 

She grimaced. She was _glad_ she'd never heard anything like this from them. She was about to pass through the wall when the blond girl let out a hushed squeal. "It's Tom Riddle!"

Hermione's mouth dropped to the floor. She didn't need any of this. She _really_ didn't need to hear what these girls thought about Tom. 

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. As it was, she was having a hard time holding back the laugh that was caught in her throat as small tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. This was truly the perfect ending to the worst day of her life.

She let out a small laugh, one hand over her mouth as she leaned against the wall. It really was amusing how Tom had hoodwinked the entire school. And it's not like any of the girls could hear her laughing.

She paused mid-giggle. _Tom _would hear her laughing if she didn't quiet down right now.

"Aw, I can't see him anymore," one of the other girls complained. "I guess he's more of a shower person," she reasoned.

Hermione was finding it harder and harder to keep from laughing. She knew she should be angry at Tom, but right now she couldn't stop laughing at him. Suddenly, she froze. If by some chance he found her down here, he would assume that she was there to watch _him_.

_That's stupid_, she thought. _Those girls were here to see that Quidditch captain Michael. Although I wouldn't blame them if they had Tom's schedule memorized too._

_Ugh, did I just think that?_

Shaking all dissolute thoughts from her head, Hermione headed back towards the door. She vaguely noticed a few disappointed sighs from the girls, and figured that Michael had somehow drowned in the pool or choked on some of the thick foam or bubbles. She floated through the door, now fully used to the sensation. 

Hermione had barely walked halfway down the hallway when she unexpectedly felt someone pull her arm into another empty classroom. "Going somewhere?" a deep tenor voice asked.

Hermione looked up into the smug face of Tom Riddle.

Her first thoughts were, '_you shower fast_,' but didn't feel that would be a great conversation starter. Plus, it would be like admitting she was there just to see him. Which she wasn't. And of course _he_ wouldn't see it that way.

"Yes, I was merely walking around," Hermione said loftily. "Is that illegal?" She tried to avert her eyes as Tom ran one hand through his still-wet hair, the smug smile still planted firmly on his face. 

"Why are you up so early?" Hermione asked. "Couldn't sleep?" She added mockingly.

"No," Tom responded lightly, as Hermione's eyes narrowed in frustration. _Why does he look like that? He can't…it's not like he can prove anything, even if he knew—_

"So, joined the Gryffindor girls on their Friday morning escapades, have you?" Tom asked, jerking her out of her thoughts as she nearly choked on the spit she had just swallowed, and turned a light shade of red.

"How do you know about that? And wouldn't you stop it, if you knew?" She asked, giving him a half-curious, half-glaring look.

"Hey, I like giving them a show," Tom said, crossing his arms behind his head as Hermione rolled her eyes. _Wait a second, how did we get off-topic? He's making me feel almost guilty for almost spying on him, when I should be angry with _him _for that kiss yesterday!_

_Hmm, how should I start this one?_ Hermione thought, choosing her words carefully. _I can't exactly say, 'Riddle me this, Mr. Riddle. When did you become such a pompous ass?'_

_No. Not the best way to go about that._

"What the hell is wrong with you, Tom Riddle?" She yelled instead, glaring at him. At his seemingly 'innocent' face, she crossed her arms and huffed "that _kiss_, Riddle! What the _hell_ made you think you had permission to do that!"

At Tom's raised eyebrow and the return of his trademark smirk, it was obvious to Hermione that he didn't think he needed permission to do anything. _And besides, it's not like I can say, 'Just because the Amortentia potion smells like you, that does not give you the right to kiss me!'_

_Yup. _Definitely_ not the best way to go about that_, she thought wryly. 

"Hmm, I quite enjoyed myself. Maybe we should do it again sometime?" Tom asked, watching with satisfaction as Hermione's anger increased tenfold.

"You are the most insufferable, horrible, _arrogant_, _evil_ man I've ever had the displeasure of meeting!" Hermione spit out through clenched teeth. "You think you're so cool! Well you know what, you're not! I...I—"

At Tom's bemused look, Hermione just couldn't take it anymore.

"I hate you!" She screamed, taking a swing at him with her right fist. It connected with his shoulder, and Tom stepped back ineptly as his hand reached for her other fist, which was headed for his chin. He cupped her fist in his hand lightly, pushing her to the side as she stumbled. 

Hermione managed to regain her balance instead of tumbling to the floor, and turned back to face Tom. She had no tears for him this time, but her eyes shone with anger. 

"Do you think you're any easier to live with?" Tom asked, his rough tone mirroring her own. "You expect so much from everyone, but contribute nothing. You are such an impatient, impertinent perfectionist."

"I hate you!" Hermione repeated, her voice rising in intensity. 

"Get in line," Tom scoffed. "I don't care what your feelings are one way or the other."

"Good, then it won't bug you that I find you to be the most impossible, annoying, stupid, _completely_ intolerable—"

"Only after I tell you that you're a hypocritical know-it-all and your hair closely resembles a beehive," Tom added, cutting her off.

_Only because I haven't been near a comb in five days! _Hermione wanted to scream. Instead, she yelled, "Egotistical prat!"

"Self-righteous Gryffindor!"

"Pompous , idiotic, sleazy, slimy _Slytherin_!" 

"Oh, we're having a battle of the wits, are we?" Tom mocked, his cool exterior showing only the slightest trace of rage.

"How can we? You're _unarmed_," Hermione bit back.

"Then how come I'm _winning_?" Tom sneered, using his height to try and intimidate her as he leaned over Hermione, who glared right back at him.

"The only contest you would win is a stupid contest!" Hermione yelled, meeting his glare with another one of her own. His amused smirk told her that he didn't find her response particularly witty, but she didn't care. _He won't get the last laugh. Not this time_. 

Tom broke the gaze first, confusion clouding his eyes as his eyes flickered across her body. "You look different," he stated bluntly, changing the subject so abruptly that Hermione was left stunned. 

"_What_ are you _talking_ about?" She asked, confused. 

"Just look at yourself," Tom said arrogantly, amazed that she hadn't realized it yet.

_What is he trying now? _She thought before looking down at her arms and jumping back in surprise. Her arms were clearly paler and more transparent than they had been the day before. Her mouth opened in shock as she looked back up at Tom, who reached out a hand and lightly brushed her left arm. She shivered as she felt the touch; his fingers were cold. But at least she still _felt_ it.

"Good," Tom said with a smirk as he returned his hand to his side. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to kiss you again."

"Argh! You haven't changed one bit!" Hermione yelled, unable to keep her voice from wavering. "I hate you, and I'll be happy if I never have to see you again!"

"The feeling is mutual," Tom replied smoothly. _His_ voice was clear as glass. "Well, I must be off. The girls in Gryffindor must be missing me."

With that, he spun on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving a very furious and flustered Hermione behind. _What just happened? I was supposed to walk out on him! _

She stood in the center of the room, alone, wondering what she had ever seen in Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

* * *

A/N: Hey everybody! I know this chapter is a bit shorter than normal, but I think the last chapter more than made up for it. So now both Tom and Hermione are confused about their own feelings, and take it out on the other. In the next chapter, both of them will get their 'revenge' in a way. 

Also to clarify some things, Hermione is not becoming "un-corporeal." Her status as a memory is based partly on her relationship with Tom, and when that suffers, so does her corporeality. That's why when she's angry at him she can't sleep, feel the warmth from the fire, etc. So it's in her best interest to make up with him

I hope you all like this chapter! The next one will be longer again, don't worry. I'll update as quickly as I can!

Love, Kako


	6. Dreaming While Awake

Just Let Me Wake Up Already

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter is owned by the amazing J.K. Rowling. Unfortunately for my bank account, that is not me.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to review on the last chapter! Evelyns Journey, lauraart123, MioneRocks, xXTwilight PrincessXx, 00Jade, Cashbutterfly, Charming-Lynn, riddleandme, Vera-Sabe, ReviewsGalore(another shoutout/thank you for your insightful comments!), TheCresentMoonWriter, irene0222, Sakura Takanouchi, and alleycat1186. Your comments mean more to me than I can say.

And now the long-awaited Chapter 6! Enjoy!

* * *

"_Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it." –Michel de Montaigne _

"_Memory__ cannot exist without endurance of the things perceived, and the thing perceived cannot remain where it has__ never been." –William Hazlitt _

* * *

_Recap of Chapter Five:_

_She stood in the center of the room, alone, wondering what she had ever seen in Tom Marvolo Riddle._

Chapter Six: Dreaming While Awake

All time ceased for Hermione the moment Tom Riddle walked out through the classroom door. She didn't know how long she had stood there, unmoving, but her feet simply would not budge from where she had planted them during her confrontation with Tom.

She was even having a hard time drawing together any sort of coherent statement to explain what had just happened; she wanted to scream out loud but she also didn't want to give him the satisfaction, no matter if he heard her or not.

No one had ever managed to make Hermione Granger that angry before. Not even Draco Malfoy, and punching him was one of the highlights of her third year.

To put it plainly, she didn't know how to deal with it. So she remained in the exact same place, her brain only registering that it was time to move when students began filing into the classroom and Hermione realized that classes for that day were starting. She hurried out, determined to find _somewhere_ where she could think, uninterrupted.

Her first thoughts were to return to one of the towers, but she felt that the places she would normally go held no solace for her any longer. She needed somewhere completely new, and so she headed to the Astronomy Tower.

Being mid-morning, the tower was thankfully unoccupied, and Hermione slumped against one side of the wall after climbing up to the lookout where the Astronomy classes were taught. In the daytime it looked completely different than it did at night, and Hermione was offered a fantastic view of the castle and the grounds from her spot high above the ground in the tallest tower.

Hermione was there not just because she knew it would be unoccupied. She had thought briefly about going to the library, or returning to one of the classrooms to sit in on a class and get her mind off of her current situation, but decided against it. She wanted to be one hundred percent sure she wouldn't run into Tom, because she didn't think she could keep herself from lashing out at him if she did.

While they were currently at a stalemate as far as power goes, as neither one could injure the other magically, both had resorted to using words as their primary weapon against the other.

And words had the nasty habit of being far more effective at causing lasting blows than anything magical or physical could do.

She leaned her head against the rough stone of the wall, not caring that it wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing she could lean on. Lately, all of her senses had been dulled to the point where she was hardly in control of them anymore.

_Well, all this proves is that my original feelings about Tom Marvolo Riddle were dead on_, she thought with just a tiny sliver of satisfaction.

_Stupid, cheating bastard_, she repeated to herself.

_Wait a second…when did he ever cheat?_

_That's not important_.

_Argh, I never want to see him again_, she thought with as much grim determination as she could muster. _I don't care that I'll have to wander about on my own, I don't care that I'm losing what little corporeality I had…and it's not like that matters if only Tom could use it anyway. _

Several minutes later, and Hermione realized just how little she could do. True, she could go to classes here, but where was the challenge when she knew the material or couldn't interact with the rest of the class? She couldn't eat or sleep to pass the time, and now she had no one to talk to. Sure, she could listen to people, but what was the point in that when she couldn't even talk back? She was practically powerless.

And she was bored out of her mind.

_No_, she quickly conceded. _My mind is about the only thing I have left. Everything else changes more than when Sir Cadogan was in charge of the Gryffindor passwords._

Hermione smiled slightly to herself at the thought of the gallant, if often overbearing, knight. She wondered slightly if he was around during this time, then something caught her eye that made Hermione's heart soar.

A quidditch match was underway in the large quidditch pitch, and by the rampant swirling colors of yellow and red, Hermione knew it was between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. The cheers from the stadium barely reached her ears, but Hermione was offered a near-perfect bird's eye view of the match.

She watched absentmindedly for a few minutes, struggling to see the score to know who was in the lead. By the loud cheering whenever a red-clad chaser scored, Hermione had to grin, confident that her house was winning the match. She absentmindedly hoped they were also winning the House cup, and made a mental note to check the status of the house points to see the tally.

Hermione let out a whoop when another chaser scored another goal, expecting to hear the voices of her friends beside her. She was not prepared for her own voice to echo sound back, and for her voice to sound so lonely. She had loved watching quidditch games mainly to support Harry and Ron, who were on the team, and because of the pride she felt in her own house. What she did not expect was the intense surge of loneliness when she realized that Harry and Ron weren't down there on their brooms, and that Neville or Ginny weren't beside her, cheering away as loudly as they could.

She saw huge spiraling red fireworks erupting over the quidditch pitch, and heard the deafening cheers coming from the corner of the stadium clad in matching red and gold. She smiled; Gryffindor had won.

She responded with a wan smile, not as excited as she initially thought she was when she discovered the match. Sure, it helped to restore some semblance of consistency, but how long will it last?

_Hopefully long enough_, she thought, rising shakily to her feet. She headed briskly to the Gryffindor common room. If anything, the celebration party they should already be throwing would fool her mind in thinking she was right at home.

* * *

In a completely different part of the castle, Tom Riddle sat in the Slytherin common room in a tall armchair upholstered in dark green velvet. His eyes narrowed as he remembered his _conversation_ with that memory-ghost girl earlier that day.

_At first the banter was fun, but that girl doesn't know where to stop_, he thought, clenching his jaw as he let only the slightest trace of exterior anger show on his normally unruffled countenance.

He let his gaze wander lazily across the room, drumming his fingers lightly on the open pages of the Arithmancy textbook before him. The room was less occupied than it normally was; still, Tom doubted many Slytherins would care about the outcome of the Quidditch match that was taking place at that moment. No matter who won, _his_ house was still in the lead for both the Quidditch cup and the House cup. And it had been that way since he had been at Hogwarts, mostly thanks to him.

His eyebrows tensed together when he realized how often his mind has wandered from his nearby reading material. Instead of the Arithmancy charts and number sequences he was supposed to be studying, passages from the _Memoryes and Magick_ book kept popping up in his mind.

_Figures memory would be so Merlin-damned persistent_, Tom growled mentally as he noticed Aidan Malfoy coming up to him from the common room entrance.

"Gryffindor won the match," he spit out, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "They just got lucky, they haven't been flying that well in practices." He knew about the other teams' practices because he was the Keeper on the Slytherin team.

Tom had to resist the urge to strangle the blond, saying '_Didn't you know when I say, "leave me alone, I'm studying," I meant it?_ Although, he found it was hard to study any other subject, when the phrases '_The three different types of memories are…' _or '_Memories are a connection similar to dreams in that anything is possible, and the déjà vu feeling of one is a paradoxical reaction to the other.'_

Instead, he turned to the Malfoy, who again frowned in disgust at the pile of books on the table next to him. "These moldy old things have been here for days, whose are they?" He lifted the cover of one book with one finger, then dropping it down to see a small cloud of dust emanating from the pages.

Tom saw that it was the stack of memory books he had been so unsuccessfully trying to purge from his own mind, and decided to teach the unmindful Slytherin a lesson. "Those _books_ happen to be mine," he said, at the same time not knowing why he was defending them. Technically, they weren't his at all, as he had only gotten them to placate _Hermione_.

Even thinking her name augmented his anger further. "I've gotten them for Ancient Runes," he continued, keeping up the same excuse he used earlier. "And they are quite informative. Now, what was it you were _saying_?" He asked, a dangerously low undertone to his voice.

"Nothing, Tom," Aidan said hastily. At Tom's raised eyebrow, he lowered his voice and his eyes, whispering, "Lord Voldemort," instead. Tom leaned back, satisfied. _Wielding power is so much fun_, he thought. _The feeling of holding fear over someone else…the control and knowledge, it's unlike anything else_.

"So, how about the Slug Club ball next week?" Aidan asked, changing the subject quickly. "Have you asked anyone yet?"

And this is exactly why Tom severely hated social functions of any kind. While there were no shortage of girls who would die for the chance to go with him, it was hard to find one who was not a complete idiot. Most of them were only concerned with their appearances or gossip, and became mind-numbingly boring to be around after more than a few minutes of interaction.

"You know, Cedrella fancies you," Aidan said wistfully. "She'd go with you, if you asked."

The image of the dark-haired Black heiress flashed before Tom's eyes. _If there is anything almost worse than a Malfoy, it is a Black._ As their money grew, their brains diminished. And they all looked like such cookie-cutter clones of each other, it was creepy. Although, what they lacked in personality, they made up for in loyalty. While the Malfoys of the world were conniving, under-the-table dealing crooks, the Blacks paraded around with their wealth, and once you were accepted by them, their loyalty was unwavering.

"Hmm, I think I will," Tom mused. Of all the girls in their year, she was by far one of the most beautiful. She had never been in the group of girls from other Houses practically throwing themselves at him, but was always in the background, chatting quietly with someone while her warm brown eyes studied her companion.

A different pair of brown eyes swam in his vision, and Tom's mental scowl deepened. Of course he would go with the Black girl, she was about as different from that ghost as he could manage. _Which will be a refreshing change_, he smirked.

"Well, I have to go," Aidan said, glancing across the room again before leaving quickly back through the large door to the dungeons.

_Whatever_, Tom thought as he brushed off his 'lieutenant' in a way among his supporters. He returned to the book, but specific lines from the other texts kept stamping themselves across his mind. '_Memory, from the Latin Memoria, meaning 'to remember.' '__The faculty of the mind by which it retains the knowledge of previous thoughts, impressions, or events.'_

Tom's hand twitched in the direction of his wand as he seriously considered blasting the stack of books into nothingness. Then, he abruptly stopped. _Why am I letting them get to me like this? They're almost as pesky as that girl!_

Thinking it was only a matter of improper concentration, Tom pulled his Arithmancy textbook closer, concentrating so hard on the material that he didn't notice as the hours slipped away, passing lunch and moving into the afternoon.

He looked up again hours later, slightly surprised by the brighter light that now filtered into the room from the lamps and the small windows high on the walls. He squinted, looking at the clock with a bemused expression on his face. _If only the whole weekend would pass this quickly_.

He was interrupted by the arrival of a similar blond-haired head, but on a much smaller person than the one who had visited him hours before. Abraxas' worried expression could be read from across the room, and Tom instantly grew irritated, knowing that _something_ had happened, and he would have to clean up their mess. Again.

"Tom!" Abraxas cried, relief evident in his voice. "We've got a situation," he added, his voice lower. "Pollux and Aidan, they…" he trailed off, unsure about how to deliver this particular bit of bad news.

"What is it?" Tom asked in annoyance. _What could they have possibly done that's that bad?_

"I told them you wouldn't like it, but they've broken into Professor Ackerley's Office. You know, the Muggle Studies teacher?" He knew Tom had never taken the class, and the professor was known to the whole school to be Muggle-born herself, to the disgust of every Slytherin in the school.

"Lead the way," Tom said through clenched teeth. _They specifically disobeyed my orders! Don't they know that we cannot do anything to alert attention to ourselves until after we graduate?_

They hurried out of the common room and up to the sixth floor, where Professor Ackerley's office was located. They didn't have to go far to find Aidan and Pollux, who were hurrying down the hall, a bulky object concealed under Aidan's cloak. When they saw Tom and Abraxas, they both froze.

"You fools!"

Tom was livid with anger. "We will discuss this later. Hurry, the professors will be here soon. What did you do?"

"W-we stole this," Aidan said, handing Tom the object. It was an Order of Merlin, Second Class, that Professor Ackerley had received for her research work behind Squibs' apparent lack of magic.

"I'll take care of it," Tom said, taking the award. "I'll be expecting you in the common room," he added as he turned, heading for the staircase and hurrying the two flights of stairs to the seventh floor. Once there, the route to the Room of Requirement was almost second nature.

_I need a place to hide this_, Tom thought as his fingers clenched around the stolen plaque. The familiar outline appeared, and Tom opened the door, slipping through to the constantly-shifting room and closing the door firmly behind him.

Once inside, Tom was stunned at what he saw. _This is…interesting_, he thought, taking in the sight before him.

This room was seemingly endless, and filled with lofty shelves stocked with different items. Perusing the shelves, Tom saw old schoolbooks, cardboard boxes, old bottles and toys, and a stack of wizarding comic books with at least an inch of dust on top. _How unusual…I did not expect this from the Room of Requirement_, he thought as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards in a slight grin. Yes, all these items would be useful in hiding the Order of Merlin; with all this cover, it would be near impossible to find.

He tucked the Order of Merlin between two bookends, setting a small picture frame face down on top to hide it better.

He headed back towards the door, casting one last glance over his shoulder at the mountains of objects littering the room. _Yes…this could be very useful_.

Tom leisurely walked back to his House's common room, noting the voices of several professors as he passed the fifth floor.

Once back in the common room, he noticed both Pollux and Aidan's worried expressions. Abraxas was still there too, berating his older brother for disobeying a direct order from 'Lord Voldemort.'

Fortunately, the common room was empty. "How dare you ignore my orders?" He asked, his voice seething with rage. "I think a little _Crucio_ ought to clear your minds a little more." The two knew what was about to happen, as they had all been on the receiving end of that particular curse many times over the past couple of years.

"_Crucio_," Tom said lazily after casting a silencing charm on the two. His smirk widened as he took in the intense looks of pain on the two Slytherin's faces. _Oh yes, scream in your mind all you want._

He lifted the curse after a minute, his smirk widening. They would never even _think _about disobeying him again. "You may leave," he said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. The three other Slytherins left the common room quickly as Tom returned to the green armchair and the Arithmancy textbook right where he left it.

* * *

Hermione was right, the party in Gryffindor Tower was amazingly similar to the parties after quidditch victories in her own time.

By that, it was a total spectacle.

Bottles of Butterbeer were passed around, Gryffindor colors and banners were strewn all over the walls and ceiling of the immense common room, and loud music was playing which only competed with the noise from at least seventeen different conversations.

Someone had charmed little models of Nimbus 200 brooms to fly around the ceiling, occasionally bumping into bookcases or lamps. Hermione noted with disapproval how the caster of the spell forgot to add a stabilizing charm, as throughout the night the brooms dipped lower and lower until they were practically knocking students in the head as they swarmed around the room.

She had been watching two students in a game of Wizard's Chess for the past half-hour, choosing that over the game of Exploding Snap that was taking place near the fireplace. The festivities had started to die down, and only a handful of students remained in the common room. Hermione looked around for something else to hold her attention; Wizard's Chess always reminded her of her first-year experience in finding the Sorcerer's Stone.

She caught sight of a girl in a large armchair reading a book, and Hermione hoped it was something a bit more challenging than the lower-level Charms and Transfiguration textbooks she'd been reading over people's shoulders earlier. Moving to stand over the girl's chair again, Hermione was surprised to see that the book in question wasn't a textbook at all. A quick glance at the cover, and she cracked a thin smile.

'_Don't Fight Destiny?' _Hermione noted with a snort. _Well, at least a Muggle romance novel is something different_. The girl had just started the novel, and Hermione caught up quickly, although she thought that the plot was pretty easy to follow. Helena, the heroine of the novel, was pursued by Ramón, who was in a motorcycle gang. After breaking up with him, Helena moves from the small town of Rancho Verde to Chicago, where Ramón follows her. Typical romance-novel garbage.

_Typically addicting romance novel garbage_, Hermione thought later as she was slowly drawn in to the pages of the novel. She was glad the other Gryffindor girl seemed to have the same reaction, as Hermione couldn't stand not knowing how Helena was going to break it to Ramón that she was moving away and would never see him again.

"_Ramón, stop. It was never meant to be," Helena cried, putting one hand to her head as she dramatically staggered away from the park where she had decided to tell Ramón that she was leaving to pursue a career as a singer. _

"_Chica, we are destined to be together," Ramón said, emotion flooding his voice as he watched the love of his life walk away from him. _

"_Don't make this any harder than it has to be!" Helena spoke, struggling to keep the tears from her eyes as she left Ramón standing under the shade of the birch tree. Their tree._

_Merlin, this is terrible_, Hermione thought, but she still could not keep the tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes at Helena's plight. _Ramón is an idiot! She deserves to be rid of him!_

Hermione was horrified as she noticed the girl putting down the book and heading up to her dormitory. Now she would never know how Ramón would make it up to Helena!

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear her brain of all thoughts related to horribly-written, trashy romance novels, but it was harder than it seemed. She was still unable to sleep, but tried to rest her head on a throw pillow on the couch in the common room just the same.

Hermione's weekend was spent reading the romance novel over the same girl's shoulder. _Time well spent_, she would think at the time, but immediately after would wonder why she was even bothering with that literary garbage. Another page later, and she would again be drawn into the simple lives but complicated love of Helena and Ramón.

"_Ramón, I can never see you again," Helena told him as she waited by the bus stop for her Greyhound bus to Chicago. He had been unfaithful to her for the last time._

"_Helena, my love, I can change!" Ramón cried passionately as he tried to wrench the battered suitcase from Helena's hands. She kept her fingers on the worn leather handle, whacking him in the arm with the suitcase. _

"_I thought I could change you, but you were too cold, too distant," Helena reminisced. "What you do is illegal! The drugs, the guns, and for what? Money?" Ramón made an effort to brush her tears away, but Helena jerked away from his touch. "I can't even stand to look at you anymore."_

_Helena ignored Ramón's pleading eyes as she saw the bus approach in the distance. "Goodbye, Ramón."_

_She boarded the bus, Ramón watching it drive across the horizon as the June sun dipped low in the sky. He stared longingly at the one woman he could never have, and the one he would always love._

The girl closed the book with a snap, happily jumping up from the same red armchair by the fire as she left the common room, leaving a very angry Hermione behind.

_That book was terrible_, part of her thought, not believing she'd wasted an entire weekend on that nonsense.

_Ramón was a jerk,_ the other part of her thought. The part that actually _enjoyed_ reading that book.

Ramón had cheated on Helena, then kept the secret from her that he was smuggling drugs illegally over the border. Helena was too much of a pushover, and had let Ramón's actions go by unpunished. She could have used her influence over him to stop him, but she had let it get to the point where Ramón's brother was shot in a gang war. Not wanting to give Ramón any more chances, Helena ended things for good, leaving him and the town she'd known from birth behind.

_Hey, Ramón reminds me a little bit of Tom,_ she thought with amusement. There was _one_ storybook-style villain she would be happy never to see again.

_Although he deserves worse punishment than what Ramó_n _received_, she continued to muse. _And I'm in a unique position to make his life a living hell. He'll rue the day he ever crossed Hermione Granger._

And that afternoon, Hermione forgot her promise to never see or speak to him again, and made a new one: to do anything possible to annoy him or make him as miserable as possible.

* * *

The next day, Hermione was ready to make her move. She had planned out the perfect ammunition for her upcoming battle against Tom Riddle, and only hoped that her plans would go as smoothly as she planned. Now all she had to do was wait for the perfect moment.

The perfect moment started exactly at four o'clock, Monday afternoon. Potions Class.

_After all, why break tradition?_ Hermione thought wryly as she prepared to meet Tom there. He surely would be expecting _some_ kind of confrontation—after all, it had been days since they had last spoken. Although, maybe he took her words to heart that she hated him and never wanted to speak to him again.

_Wait,_ she thought with a grin. _To take my words to heart, he'd first have to have one_.

She made sure to get there early, standing in the back of the room, leaning against the large square table that all four Slytherin students used to brew their potions. She rested one elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, waiting. Waiting to glare down the people unlucky enough to walk through the door first.

Good for her, Tom Riddle was always early.

He walked in, the composed expression on his face slipping only slightly to unrestrained irritation when he caught sight of the Gryffindor ghost seated at his table, now tapping her nails against the hard surface of the tabletop. She raised an eyebrow when their eyes met, almost daring him to join her.

He was trapped in by the arrival of more students, and had little choice but to walk to his usual table like nothing was wrong, shooting Hermione a seething glare that reminded her that he too had not forgotten their conversation three days ago.

"You've got some nerve," he hissed through clenched teeth, just soft enough for the two of them to hear.

"Oh?" She asked, trying to muster her confidence as she met his gaze head-on.

"Break your promises so easily, do you?" He asked, a sarcastic mirth to his voice.

"No, I simply decided that keeping it wasn't in the best interest of either of us," she reasoned lightly, trying to keep her face impassive. Tom glared again, breaking the connection and returning his eyes to the front of the classroom, where Professor Slughorn was walking through the front door.

"Sorry I'm a tad bit late, class," Slughorn said apologetically as he hurriedly waved his wand at the board, magically writing down the name of the potion they would be brewing that day. The familiar words brought a smile to Hermione's face. Perhaps this wouldn't be as difficult as she originally planned?

Not before covertly casting a glance in Hermione's direction did Tom raise his hand to answer Slughorn's question to describe the potion he had written on the board. Slughorn picked Tom, of course, beaming in anticipation to hear his response.

"The Infinitas Somnio potion," Tom began quickly, "is the strongest of all the known sleeping potions. Unlike the dreamless sleep potion, this one does give the drinker of the potion a dream, but it ensures that the dream is not malevolent in any way."

"That's correct!" Slughorn said proudly. "Ten points to Slytherin! Now, those potions brewed correctly will be used by Madam Brooks in the infirmary, so don't waste any time! Off you go!"

And with that, the ingredients and steps to the complicated potion listed themselves on the blackboard as the students began to move towards the supply cabinets.

Hermione couldn't resist a scathing remark, "you should probably steal some of it, Riddle, you'll be needing it before long."

Tom would never admit it, but the thought had crossed his mind the moment he had seen the potion's name. He chose to ignore Hermione, moving to gather his ingredients and return to the table without a word or gesture in her direction.

"Hmm, I thought you had better manners than that," Hermione chided, rising from her chair and moving to stand behind Tom. "I'll just have to teach you a lesson," she said matter-of-factly, unable to keep the grin from spreading to her face. Either this would work beautifully, or he would kill her for it later.

As she walked by him, she let one arm dangle freely, brushing it lightly against his side as she poked her fingers against his stomach. She darted away quickly, grinning as she took in his reaction. _Ah, so the Dark Lord is ticklish_, she thought devilishly.

Tom straightened instantly when Hermione touched him, lightly shuddering as the muscles in his stomach constricted tightly. He tried to keep in the instant urge to jump away, instead gritting his teeth as he turned his head slightly to look at Hermione, who had a triumphant smile plastered firmly on her face.

He glared at her, quickly turning his attentions back to his bubbling potion that had now turned a dark shade of purple that was more than likely not part of the prescribed instructions. Hermione bit back a smile as Tom quickly tossed in the peppermint oil from a bottle by his cauldron, stirring it frenetically and again casting a quick glare in Hermione's direction. But she was already gone. _Where is she?_ Tom thought, his concentration split in keeping his potion brewing correctly and keeping the location of the wretched girl who seemed determined to make him embarrass himself in front of the entire class.

Hermione was directly behind him, and fully aware of his anxiety. She grinned before tickling him again, making Tom twist abruptly in his hair as he jumped up, turning to glare at Hermione once more before covering his actions by moving to grab some fluxweed from a basket in the middle of the table. Walking back, Tom deftly attempted to hook his foot around Hermione's to trip her, although she jumped back just in time, passing through the corner of another table as they both exchanged another set of glares.

Tom dropped back into his chair, chopping the fluxweed and adding it to his cauldron before stirring it again. _Almost finished, now I just need to OH MERLIN!_

Hermione had attacked his ribs again, laughing inwardly as Tom twitched again, trying to keep from moving or laughing—a very hard feat when one is being tickled to death.

"Tom, is everything alright?" A girl sitting across the table on Tom's left asked, giving him a suspicious look. "Yes," he said through clenched teeth before elbowing Hermione sharply in the stomach. She stepped back, laughing herself at Tom's attempt to recover his lost dignity.

"Yes, everything is fine," he said curtly, turning back to his nearly-finished potion, still trying to rid himself of the feelings in his stomach from Hermione's fingers.

Meanwhile, Hermione had burst out laughing at Tom's actions. To the rest of the class, it must have looked as though he was having intermittent seizures, but no one would assume that he was being tickled by an invisible ghost.

"Come on, Tom, just admit it," she said, laughing. "You're ticklish, and completely at my mercy. And if you apologize for your earlier stupidity and agree to help me out," she paused. "There are still two memory books I have yet to read completely. I'll stop if you agree."

She couldn't help the huge grin on her face. She was having some of the most fun in this class than she'd had for the past week. _Of course tormenting Tom was always fun_, she reflected. But she never expected to feel this happy. If only he would've actually laughed when she tickled him. She wondered what his real laugh sounded like…

_No, stop those thoughts_, Hermione corrected herself. "Just nod yes or no," she told him softly, trying not to make her voice sound patronizing.

Tom hesitated before dropping his head in a curt nod, bottling a sample of the potion to take to Slughorn along with the rest of the class. Hermione watched him go, raising one hand to her mouth to cover a sudden huge yawn. Exhaling, she realized just how tired she actually was. Without waiting for Tom to return to the table Hermione left the classroom, returning to the Gryffindor common room and settling out on the huge red couch before the fireplace. She was exhausted; and even though it was barely the evening, she couldn't help how tired she felt.

Yawning again, she closed her eyes, curling her arms over her stomach as she breathed out regularly, slipping into sleep within the minute. Threads of dreams tugged at Hermione's mind, pulling her into a dreamlike world that only competed in strangeness with the world of memories Hermione was currently in.

* * *

A/N: Was that worth the wait? I hope so! To everyone who I said I was considering putting another kiss in this chapter, Sorry, I lied xD I'm gonna postpone that till the next chapter.

Also, 'infinitas somnio' means endless dream. That potion will sort of have a connection to the next chapter (there's your hint! xD)

Reviews make my day! If you liked this chapter or the story in general, I'd love to hear about it!

Love, Kako


	7. Third Time's the Charm

Just Let Me Wake Up Already

Disclaimer: They tried, but I just couldn't accept ownership of HP. I also don't own the song lyrics/quotes I use throughout this fanfic.

A/N: A Dairy Queen Blizzard to: Evelyns Journey, irene0222, TheCresentMoonWriter, xXTwilight PrincessXx, Charming-Lynn, Web Walker, Nerys, MioneRocks, 00Jade, Sakura Takanouchi, Cashbutterfly, and Julia. Thanks for reviewing!

Keep several things in mind when you read this chapter. Firstly, according to a Discovery Channel special on dreams I watched the other day, if you become aware that you're dreaming while you're dreaming, you can control and change your dream. Secondly, just remember all the hints I've left in previous chapters about connections between memories and dreams. Don't read too much into them, but keep them in mind so this chapter doesn't seem too "out there." Enjoy!

This chapter is dedicated to my sister Sakura Takanouchi, for helping me with her fantastic ideas for this chapter.

* * *

_I'd do anything  
Just to hold you in my arms  
To try to make you laugh  
Cause somehow I can't put you in the past  
I'd do anything  
Just to fall asleep with you  
Will you remember me?  
Cause I know  
I won't forget you_

_--"I'd do anything" by Simple Plan_

* * *

_Recap of Chapter Six:_

_Yawning again, she closed her eyes, curling her arms over her stomach as she breathed out regularly, slipping into sleep within the minute. Threads of dreams tugged at Hermione's mind, pulling her into a dreamlike world that only competed in strangeness with the world of memories Hermione was currently in._

Chapter Seven: Third Time's the Charm

Hermione lifted her head, groggily trying to focus her vision as the room swam before her eyes. It was dark, like always. She had no idea how long she had been there, it was like the same scenes had been replaying themselves over and over, imprinting their identical incongruity in her mind.

_Am…Am I awake?_ She thought, blinking as she sat up. Her location was the same, the same dark room, devoid of any personal items or paraphernalia, plain enough to be a hotel room.

_No. Damn_, she thought, staggering around the room to turn on the lights. Her limbs always felt heavy when she woke, but this morning it felt worse. If it was even morning. _Then where on Earth am I?_

_Oh, yes, that's right_, she thought, the sudden stroke of inspiration hitting her like a lightning bolt. _I…I'm dreaming_.

That was the only plausible explanation for what was going on around her. Day after day, she had been subjected to one of the strangest chain of events she'd ever experienced in her life. Then, she would return here, go to sleep, and wake only to repeat the identical events over again.

Her mind was still foggy, but she tried to remember the events of the previous day, the dream blurring the edges so only a faint hint of déjà vu and familiarity remained. She remembered the strange windowless building she was in, the strange abundance of magical creatures and the strange event that culminated the night, some sort of ball, or dance, or…

_Prom? What do they call it?_ She passed the small closet in the room, catching a small glimpse of the dress she'd worn for the past three nights. Three identical nights. Seeing the same things, hearing the same things, saying the same things.

It was odd; the whole room was filled with Muggle furniture. There was nothing magical about it, the typical lamps, bed, and even a boxy television and white telephone, labeled buttons on the cradle typical of a nondescript motel phone.

_Yes…I'm dreaming. But why haven't I woken up yet?_ She thought with a slight tinge of worry.

Suddenly, the phone rang. Hermione looked up, curiosity evident in her sleep-deprived eyes. _This is something new_.

Her hand hovered over the phone for a moment before she picked it up on the third ring, lifting the heavy phone to her ear. "Hello?" She asked, wondering who could be calling her.

"Hello, this is Tom Riddle, with Customer Service. Are you currently happy with—"

As soon as Hermione heard the smooth, familiar voice, she tensed, fingers clenching around the curve of the phone. "Stay the hell out of my mind!" She screamed, slamming the phone back onto the cradle.

Her breathing hitched as she stared at the phone, half wanting to curse the object into nothingness, half wanting it to ring again so she could have some difference from the monotonous routine. The phone didn't ring last time.

_It's not like I could curse it anyways_, she thought with a huff. _For some reason, I don't have my wand in this dream world_. Come to think of it, no one she interacted with used one publicly either.

Her heart leaped when she remembered the one positive aspect of her nightly forced appearances at the ball that occurred in this strange world. It wasn't a masquerade—rather, she saw many familiar figures from her time at Hogwarts, mixed with unfamiliar faces she supposed her mind had conjured for her.

She remembered going to sleep—vaguely. Whenever she strained to remember more, it was like hitting a fuzzy invisible wall, blocking out most of the memories and leaving her with a strange, slightly unpleasant feeling, making her feel almost incomplete.

There were several things missing from her mind that she felt she should know. She remembered slightly that she always felt tired—maybe that was the reason she was sleeping so long—and something about being invisible.

_It should almost be about time_, she thought, remembering slightly how the events of the previous days had turned out. _Three, two, one…_

The sound of someone knocking on the door three times made Hermione smile. The whole thing was so predictable, so indistinguishable from the day before that Hermione thought for a moment that she had somehow been caught in some kind of time loop.

"Hermione!" the voice at the door cried. How Hermione's heart clenched when she first saw the face behind the voice.

With the first genuine smile of the day, Hermione raced to the hallway and flung open the door, enveloping the first person she saw in a huge hug. The redhead returned her hug, laughing at the muffled strangled cry in Hermione's throat. "Hermione, are you okay?" Ginny asked as Hermione moved on to the next person.

"Luna, I've missed you too!" Hermione cried, giving the surprised girl a hug. Parvati and Lavender received hugs as well, as Ginny whispered to Luna, "what's wrong with her?" Hermione was too happy to even care.

"I think it's the flibberjets," Luna said sensibly. "They charge your emotions, and make you excessively—"

"Hey, we'll be late for lunch!" Ginny said quickly, cutting her off. She didn't want to get Luna started about 'flibberbats' or whatever she was blabbering on about. The girls left Hermione's room, moving into the brightly lit massive hall of the promenade-styled interior of the building. Easily several hundred feet tall, multiple corridors linked the doors to rooms as the floors and staircases were filled with the moving masses.

"Come on! We promised ourselves a girl's lunch out before the ball tonight," Lavender giggled as they walked together, merging with the swirling masses of creatures and wizards alike. At first Hermione couldn't help but stare as a flock of pixies passed overhead, zooming upward to avoid a giant walking away from them.

The windowless hall was airy and expansive, with huge dark colored glass panels as the ceiling, blocking out all light while huge pendant lighting and chandeliers dropped down from support beams and steel arches over the walkways.

"So, are you excited about the dance?" Parvati asked Hermione. When first asked this question, it made her think back on the Yule Ball of her fourth year during the Triwizard Tournament. While she had had fun, it had also been one of the only times she had let herself indulge in such frivolity. Her hair alone took hours.

_Way too much to do on a regular basis_, she thought with a slight frown. "Of course I'm excited," she told Parvati with a slight smile. The ball was worth it all, if only to spend a few much-needed moments with her friends.

"Here we are!" Ginny said happily as the four girls arrived at a small bistro café located in the middle of the promenade-like indoor street, tables visible from the walkway in a roped-off section. Ginny took charge, proceeding to tell the hostess their reservation. Soon, the five friends were seated in a large booth in one corner of the restaurant, happily chatting.

Hermione began to grow a little bit bored. It felt wonderful to see her friends again, but sitting through the same conversation for three days in a row? That was pure torture for Hermione's mind.

Hermione swirled her straw through her pumpkin juice as she tried to remember more about the world outside the dream. She knew this world wasn't real—it felt so different and strange, and she never heard Ginny or the others speak about their everyday lives here other than in preparation for the ball. No magic was mentioned; just gossip.

_I remembered something about being invisible_, she thought. _Something about a pensieve…_

Suddenly a twinge of pain shot through Hermione's chest, and she leaned over the table, coughing, her eyes closed tightly together in pain.

"Are you okay?" Lavender asked, scooting further down the booth away from Hermione to get away from the germs as Hermione continued to cough.

The pain subsided, and Hermione frantically tried to remember what it was she had been thinking about before the pain struck. But she couldn't remember, and again hit the fuzzy blocker that blurred the boundary between what she knew in this world, and the rest of her mind she was sure lay beyond the peculiar dome of this building.

"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione assured Lavender. She reached for a breadstick from the basket in the middle of the table, blissfully munching away.

_Gosh yes, I missed food_, she thought, closing her eyes as she chewed, releasing a contented sigh as she finished the breadstick. Luna remarked again about the obstinate nature of the flibberjet, but Hermione didn't care. She'd put up with an army of the little invisible nonexistent beasts to get more food. 

Surprisingly, she didn't feel hungry in the slightest, but she never felt full either, no matter how much she ate.

_I guess it's all a part of the dream_, she reasoned, happily grabbing a slice after their pizza was delivered to their table.

* * *

Tom Riddle stood alone in his Slytherin House dormitory, slightly annoyed. First that girl walks out on him during his Potions class, and then completely disappears! She hadn't shown herself around the Slytherin common room all day, and she wasn't in the library either. _It's not like she has anything better to do_, he thought with a frown.

The sky was already dark outside, and had been for some time. Tom suspiciously looked around the room again, half expecting the ghost to pop up somewhere, surprising him like she had been all day.

Scowling slightly, he pulled the small vial out of his robes. Hermione had been right, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction. He slowly turned the small bottle of 'infinitas somnio' potion around, watching the light purple liquid slosh around softly inside. He figured he had better prepare himself in some way for the ghost's morning interruptions (as he referred to them in his mind) and the powerful sleeping draught provided the perfect opportunity.

_Still…good dreams? Then why am I so hesitant to take this?_ He asked himself mentally as he slowly slid the cork out of the vial. Tom didn't normally dream—the nightmares had stopped years ago. Now when he did sleep it was a peaceful, quiet, nothing. _Nothing_…and Tom Riddle was nothing if not consistent.

Gritting his teeth, he decided to end this mental debate once and for all. He was nervous about taking a stupid potion? About what he would dream? _That doesn't matter_, he thought, tipping the vial back and downing the contents, letting the liquid slosh around in his mouth before swallowing. It really did taste good, with hints of peppermint and lemon.

_There go the lemons again_, he thought as his vision swam in front of his eyes as he quickly sat down on his bed, his head hitting the pillow seconds after the potion took effect and he fell asleep, the potion throwing his mind into what would seem to be a less-than-idyllic dream-world. But, that doesn't mean it didn't promise to be a good dream…

* * *

For the next half-hour, the girls ate and chatted about the upcoming ball and their dresses. Hermione tuned it out, confident that she wouldn't be required to put in too much to the conversation, as Lavender and Parvati took care of most of that, cheerfully chattering on about the band, the food (more food!) and the amazing décor the immense ballroom was supposed to have.

While the booth was off to the side, from the way Hermione was seated she got a moderately unobstructed view of the street-like walkway outside the restaurant. She was content to people-watch while the five girls' conversations dwindled while everyone seemed to be more focused on their pizza.

She watched the passing scene with moderate interest, shifting her gaze back-and-forth across the crowd, picking out interesting looking people and wondering about their lives, or if they were even real. She was currently looking at a trio of goblins when she caught a flash of green out of the corner of her eye.

_What is that? _She thought, craning her head to see where the person had gone, but a strategically-placed column effectively blocked her view. Curious, Hermione tried to stretch her neck out to see past the column, ignoring Ginny's strange looks and Luna's oddly reassuring comments that a flibberjet wouldn't stay with one person for this long, but she was still unable to see the person that had caught her eye. She returned to her pizza, ripping into her third slice.

Parvati and Lavender had resumed the conversation about the apparently fascinating complexity of the dresses that were in fashion here, but Hermione had already heard the conversation before from the identical repetition of her dreamlike trance. Suddenly, it struck her. _I was people watching yesterday too…but I never saw whoever that was._

Her curiosity piqued, Hermione couldn't wait until the lunch was over. The first day, Hermione had excused herself excitedly from the group in order to go exploring her dream world, and she had been forced to repeat the same words and actions yesterday. _If I can even call it 'yesterday,' _she thought mockingly. _I cannot see the outside, and there are no clocks, so I don't really know _what_ time it is_.

She continued to muse about the ways this day had been different from the past ones. There had been subtle changes, she was sure. _Like the phone! _Her consciousness screamed at her. Suddenly, she could no longer remember what had happened, only that the phone had rang and she had answered it.

She'd had enough of this. It was time for answers. Maybe, today would be the day she would finally wake up. "Excuse me, I think I'm going to go walk around a bit and then take my time getting ready," she announced, sliding out of the booth.

"Ok, be ready by six!" Ginny called, Hermione resisting the urge to roll her eyes. _Yeah, like I even know when that is_. "Harry, Ron, and I will be up by then!"

Hermione left, mixing quickly with the crowd and hurrying back along the main walkway, cursing how short she was. She couldn't see over the primarily giraffe-heighted people standing around her. She accidentally bumped into someone on her left, and almost fell over. "I'm sorry," she stuttered, the stranger already gone, but she saw the same flash of green moving in the opposite direction away from her. It was a male—his height and hairstyle was evident of that, and she could tell he had thick dark hair.

She stood there, her nerves momentarily frozen, but by the time she had blinked he was already gone. She tried to cut across the crowds, but the traffic had already caught her in its swirling mess, and she suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic. She shivered, although it was nowhere near cold in the giant dome, and made her way back to her room, trying to fight off the strange sensation of feeling watched.

She stumbled back into her room, having caught one more glimpse of the same dark-haired stranger. He seemed oddly familiar, but then again she wasn't used to recognizing guys by the backs of their heads. If she could see his face, then she was sure she'd be able to recognize him.

She walked stiffly over to the small closet, throwing open the doors and staring at her dress. _And somehow my mind conjured this for me? Highly doubtful_, she thought with a grimace.

It was a frilly, girly confection of a dress. _No, not quite the proper words for it_, she reflected, but anything over the plainest white dress would seem girlier than what she was used to wearing. It was a light reddish color mixed with orange, like a burnt sunset. The colors shimmered over the full skirt and the bodice, with glinting crystals set into the top and the joint of the straps. The kind of dress that was too painful to wear while sitting, eating, _or_ dancing.

'_Beauty over pain!_' Lavender might resolutely protest, but in any other circumstance Hermione would never even wear the dress. She had tried that yesterday, sitting on her bed in her pajamas with her arms crossed, refusing to even go near the closet. Then, her arms began to move all on their own, and before she knew it the dress was on her and her hair was up, low heels on her feet.

Hermione showered, then wrestled with her hair and a blow dryer. The results weren't fantastic, but Hermione was beyond caring. She felt the now familiar sensation of her arms doing the work for her, and found a curling iron buried in a mass of dried, slightly crinkled hair. Her normally inexperienced hands made short work of pinning up the mass of curls, letting a few hang loose while others framed her face or were tucked behind an ear. What would normally have taken Hermione hours seemed to all have been accomplished in the space of a few long minutes, but she found that time in this dreamscape had a way of speeding up or slowing down on its own inclination.

Hermione swallowed, gritting her teeth as she climbed into the dress, pulling the straps over her shoulders and adjusting the slightly full skirt. The back of the dress dipped halfway down her own back, revealing far more skin that what she was used to. _Oh well, I just have to grin and bear it. Third times the charm, right? _

She studied her reflection in the mirror on the interior of the closet door. She was short, the heels did little to help that. She was somewhere in between thin and round, with her weight well distributed throughout her body. The dress did make her normally pale skin appear to have a golden tinge to it, and Hermione had to admit the color looked good on her. She had only a few seconds more to watch her reflection apprehensively before the triple knock on the door reminded her that she still had a ball to attend.

Her hand nervously clenched the doorknob, and Hermione swung open the door, an imitation of the happily shocked expression from her first night here plastered firmly on her face. Yet, she was still unable to keep her eyes from watering slightly upon seeing Ron and Harry again. She gave them both hugs, Ron lingering for a moment or two longer than she'd have liked before drawing back.

"So, ready to go?" Harry asked, extending an arm to Ginny, who grabbed it and looped her own through happily. Ron extended the same courtesy to Hermione, who accepted it grudgingly. They were going together more as friends, but he felt an obligation for the brunette witch.

The next hour passed in a blur to Hermione, the dinner placed in front of her and whisked away almost as quickly as she was lost in a mesh of sounds, tastes, and sights. Once more she caught another glimpse of the back of the dark-haired man as he left the restaurant, but the half-finished pasta before her left her unable to move, the fork spinning in the noodles.

Before Hermione knew it, the four of them were at the entrance of the ballroom, the big double doors pulled wide and the strains of a waltz already audible from the outside hall. They walked through, finding themselves in a huge opulent ballroom, decked in gold and bronze colors with hints of silver that somehow seemed not to clash, with silk banners covering the ceiling as waltzing women in damasks and velvets finer than her own swept by on the arm of equally impressive-looking gentlemen, none of the faces belonging to people Hermione might have recognized.

With the blink of an eye, Hermione found herself asked to dance by Ron, and accepting as he pulled her onto the dance floor. She had lost sight of Harry and Ginny moments before, and the spinning of the dance only seemed to further her attempts at locating anyone else she might know, as all the faces seemed to blend together while being spun and returned to Ron's arms.

Ron spun her out again, and she saw the back of the same familiar man who had been eluding her all day, dancing with an unknown partner. She made to continue over to him, but Ron's pull on her hand swept her back towards him, her feet following the rhythm of the dance although her mind screamed to get to the bottom of what was happening.

As the waltz concluded, Hermione made an excuse to return to the edge of the ballroom, leaning against a column as she watched the dancers engage in a minuet, the style reminiscent of an eighteenth-century English court dance. Everything was too perfect—from the dancers, not a one out of step, to the intricate designs of the dresses and the odd perfection of the ballroom.

Hermione kept an eye out for the mysterious stranger as her eyes scanned the dancing couples, but she was unable to see him. She had also lost sight of Ron, Ginny, and Harry, but knew with a sinking heart that she wouldn't see them again that night—she had been forced to return to her room alone after the conclusion of the ball the last two nights.

She leaned her back against the column then turned, feeling a familiar pull and a familiar pulse deep in her stomach. There, she saw him, the man who had been eluding her all day.

He walked leisurely towards her, his posture stiff and yet relaxed at the same time, his cold dark eyes unrelenting as the smirk on his mouth widened. He looked so familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. She couldn't even remember his name.

"Who are you?" She asked, confused. He obviously seemed to know _her_ well. "It's Tom Riddle," he responded, slightly amused by her question.

"Oh," was all she could say. Suddenly she remembered his name, remembered his face, although she still couldn't place how exactly she knew him.

"How did I…" she began to ask, but Tom cut her off, grabbing one of her hands and pulling her away from the column and a couple of steps closer to the swirl of dancers. "Don't think too hard about it, or you'll wake up," he told her gently.

"How did you get here?" Hermione asked, lifting her head to meet his eyes with her own. "It's your dream, isn't it?" He responded, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Mocking him seemed to come second nature to her. "That means you haven't figured it out either, right?"

He shot her an annoyed glance. "Dance with me," he commanded, drawing her closer to him as he wrapped his other hand around her waist, the one already holding one of her hands clenching it tighter.

Hermione complied, mulling over his words. _What does he mean if I think about it I'll wake up? Isn't that what I want?_

"You…and the pensieve," she said, struggling to connect the dots. She was struck with another familiar pain from trying to remember the hidden information, but pushed past it. "You!" She said a bit louder, pulling back slightly although still allowing herself to remain in his hold. "I hate you!" She said with conviction, like repeating a truth she had previously acknowledged, but with no fervor or true hate behind the words.

"Yes, I believe you do," Tom said, releasing her waist for a moment to spin her lightly, her hand coming back to rest on his shoulder. "Why do I hate you?"

Tom shrugged. "Beats me," he replied, although Hermione got the distinct sensation he was mocking her again.

They swayed to the music, the dancing couples now on their left as they danced apart from the brightly lit, gaudy center of the ballroom. The music was slower now, and as Hermione turned again she could see the dark sky through the giant French windows against the wall.

"You hate me, but I also dislike you," Tom continued lightly, as though they weren't having such an emotive discussion. "Why?" Hermione asked, curious.

"You are too predictable, too boring. You never do anything spontaneous. Have you ever let yourself go completely to your emotions, surrendering to your desires, your whims of the moment?"

Hermione frowned. _Of course I don't! What a stupid question. I never do anything if I can't be sure of the consequences of my actions_.

"You're forgetting you are in a dream," he told her, spinning her again. Hermione's head was starting to feel dizzy, and she could suddenly remember bits and snatches of information about a sleeping potion, and the word '_Gryffindor_.'

"You're in a dream," Tom repeated. "So none of this is real." Hermione continued to feel confused. _Aren't we real? I suppose so…but this is still a dream. Will I remember none of this in the morning, like I remembered none of my conscious self upon arriving here?_

"What's your point?" She huffed. She would have crossed her arms if Tom didn't have one of them trapped in his own. As it was, she was having a hard time breaking the locked connection of their eyes, their feet seeming to follow a prescribed pattern as they danced together to the soft music.

"_Do_ something spontaneous," he told her. "Something impulsive."

At Hermione's raised eyebrow, she was obviously asking, _Like what?_ "Kiss me," Tom commanded again, enjoying the shocked expression on her face as a blush rose to her cheeks.

Hermione let out a half-hearted laugh, hoping he was joking. "Ha, ha, yeah. Right," she said, averting her eyes from his own. She glanced back at him, but his dark eyes were unmoving in their emotion.

"You're serious?" She asked, suddenly wishing there was more distance between them. A corner of Tom's mouth cracked into another smirk. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't."

_Wow, now this is awkward,_ Hermione thought, somewhat wishing they were in the middle of the dance floor and dancing one of the figure dances, if only so she would be able to change partners. _It's like he said, this is a dream. Not real. I'm gonna forget this within five minutes after I wake up._

While Hermione was thinking, Tom moved closer, his lips near her left ear, the air from his words tickling the sensitive skin. "Do it," he whispered, goading her on.

"I-I…" she mumbled, blushing again as Tom moved back, studying her nervous expression. He was still close enough that all Hermione had to do was tilt her head upwards, and she would be almost close enough to kiss him. _It _would_ certainly be impulsive enough_, she thought sarcastically. _Aw, what the hell_.

The hand resting on his shoulder moved to the back of Tom's neck, lightly brushing at his hair. She turned her head up to the left, bringing his head down with her other hand as she met his lips with her own in a gentle kiss.

From the way Tom's arms moved to possessively grip her waist, he had no intention of making it remain gentle. He pulled her closer to him, one hand holding her back and keeping her close to him while the other moved up one arm to tangle itself in her hair.

Hermione meanwhile was berating herself for ever considering _not_ kissing him as he deepened the kiss, an intensity that seemed to convey not only a sense of hunger, but of need.

They both broke apart at the same time, Tom's forehead almost brushing against hers as he continued to stare deep into her eyes. Hermione tried to take a step back, but Tom was holding her firmly in place.

"Tom, I—" she started to say before another wave of pain hit her. Her eyes blinked wildly as she was hit with an onslaught of information, suddenly remembering every little detail about her life, and the pensieve world she was currently living in.

She shuddered, removing one hand from Tom's shoulder to grip her head as her vision swam. She looked around, suddenly aware that the dancers and the ballroom had all disappeared, only to be replaced by a sea of rich grey smoke.

The colorless fog drowned out everything, leaving only Hermione, Tom, and the column and window, the only remnants from her dream world.

Tom made no motion to help her as she moved away from him, breathing deeply and shuddering as another wave of recognition hit her. The column had disappeared.

"What's happening?" She asked nervously. "You're waking up," Tom told her simply as she met his eyes again. One part of her wanted nothing but to throw herself in his arms, while the other wanted desperately just to wake up so the pain would be over. It was like someone was taking a steel wool brush to her brain, wiping out the dust and grime and leaving her memories refreshed and spotless.

"I…I don't want—" she started, clutching her head with both hands now. She felt one of Tom's hands lightly brush her shoulder, but found her body frozen in place. She couldn't look back, couldn't see anything but the dense, colorless fog.

_Just wake up, Hermione_, Tom's voice seemed to whisper all around her, but it didn't seem like the words were spoken by him at all.

* * *

With a flash, Hermione sat up, nearly falling off the couch in the Gryffindor common room in the process. She gripped a coffee table to pull herself back up, not even registering that she could feel it instead of passing right through it, although her skin had returned to the pale transparency she associated with this world of memories.

_What on Earth was that?_ She asked herself, still shaking from the effects of the powerful dream as she struggled to remember what had happened.

_There was a ball, and food, and this strange room, and…_she trailed off, fishing for the last threads of the dream as they ran from the fingers of her mind. _Oh my gosh, there was a kiss. I kissed Tom._

She blushed again, not knowing whether to feel angry or upset or giddy. _Giddy? Not likely_, she snorted. _The liar said I wouldn't remember it._

She continued to fume, sitting back in the couch as she noticed the sky lightening outside. _At least it was a dream. It wasn't real_.

_But it sure felt real_.

* * *

A/N: Hope that kiss was enough for you! xD I sure built it up enough, lol. I actually got the idea for this from a dream I had (yes, Riddle did make an appearance—lucky me, eh? xD), and decided to write out Hermione's dream.

Also, to Cashbutterfly and any other usually anonymous reviewers, since you don't receive alerts to know when I put up a new chapter, just to let you know I usually try to update on Fridays. Check then for the latest chapter!

Sorry for the long Author's Notes, but I felt the information was important. Also to any of the people who have my story on alert, I know you're reading, and it'd be great to hear from you! Any ideas or comments you have would be greatly appreciated!

Love, Kako


	8. A Giant Squid of a Problem, Part I

Just Let Me Wake Up Already

Disclaimer: I don't own it. So there xP

A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter! Rainbow Cookies, Evelyns Journey, Sakura Takanouchi, Charming-Lynn, 00Jade, xXTwilight PrincessXx, irene0222, Cashbutterfly, Crystal, and My Misguided Fairytale!

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* * *

"_Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not uncommon."_

_Jane Austen, __Emma_

"_If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out."_

_Jane Austen, __Mansfield Park_

* * *

_Recap of Chapter Seven:_

_She continued to fume, sitting back in the couch as she noticed the sky lightening outside_. _At least it was a dream. It wasn't real_.

_But it sure felt real_.

Chapter Eight: A Giant Squid of a Problem, Part One

Hermione leaned back in the soft fabric of the couch, trying to ignore the tightening feeling in her stomach. She remembered everything about the dream, all down to the last sequin on her dress and the colors of the ballroom and the scents—her stomach tightened further when she remembered that the Tom in her dream had the same woodsy scent she associated with the Tom from this time.

She could remember every word they'd exchanged, clear as day. She remembered the strange sensation of waking up—a feeling she could never quite remember that vividly in any of her other dreams, especially how it was so drawn out, instead of simply tossing her out of her dream world without a word or warning.

"_How did you get here?"_ Hermione had asked him, and she still had yet to decipher his strange response. _"It's your dream, isn't it?"_

My _dream?_ She thought, confused. _What does that have to do with anything?_

She pulled her legs up to the couch, crossing them underneath her as she leaned back on a pillow; her favorite thinking pose. _Wait a second, I didn't dream anything when I slept earlier in the Slytherin common room. Why did I dream now? And is it even possible to dream inside a memory? That's kind of contradicting, don't you think?_

She continued to muse, crossing her arms over her knees as she thought. Suddenly, a sneaky conscience-voice drifted into her thoughts. _You know, this is just so you can try to forget that you do remember _every _little detail from that dream. As in, a certain Slytherin's amazing kiss?_

Hermione tried to laugh, but found her throat was as dry as a desert. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, still trying to ignore the fact that no matter what she thought about, her kiss with Tom seemed to jump back into the front of her mind.

_He was such a gentleman, though_, she thought with a very amused smile. _Not at all like how he normally acts. He acted a bit like my 'dream prince' in my dreams when I was little…a bit rough around the edges, sure, but still caring, generous, a great dancer, and there would always be a kiss…_

Hermione sat up straighter, horrified. _Maybe…what if __**I**_ _brought him into my dream? He didn't seem to know how he got there…_

She calmed down slightly, the logistic part of her brain quickly playing the devil's advocate. _I'm acting as though the real Tom was in my dream, which is impossible. You don't have interactive dreams, that just doesn't make sense._

Feeling slightly mollified, Hermione leaned back into the cushions of the couch, wondering why the tightened feeling in her stomach had yet to abate.

_There's something else_, she thought, trying to remember every little detail about the dream. She didn't need to try too hard; the entire experience, but especially the moments that involved Tom, seemed to spring to the front of her mind without much effort and she didn't think she could ignore it even if she tried.

_I'm sure it'll come to me eventually_, she decided, swinging her feet over the edge of the couch and standing up. She was awake now, and she had to remind herself that she was no longer in her dream world. In this memory, nothing could be that easy.

* * *

Tom woke up slightly later than he'd planned, and with a strangely contented feeling. It was actually that feeling that made him spring out of bed, staring suspiciously around the room. Any feeling remotely near contentedness must be dangerous.

And with the swiftness of a suddenly lit candle, Tom remembered the strange dream he'd had the previous night. His vision hit the empty bottle on the table beside his bed, knocked over from when he'd dropped it suddenly from drinking the sleep-inducing potion.

_Good dreams?_ He thought with a scowl trying to remember every little detail of the 'Prince Charming' role he'd been subjected to all night. The dialogue was clear in his mind. They had both been real; he was sure of it. _How dare that ghost drag me into her dreams? Isn't being with her during the day bad enough?_

_Apparently not_, he thought, vanishing the bottle that contained the stolen 'infinitas somnio' potion. He didn't need any more reminders that technically, it was still his fault for ending up there. If he hadn't taken the potion, he would have had a normal, dreamless sleep. Maybe he wouldn't even have slept at all.

Tom dressed and collected his books, heading down the stairs to the common room. He saw a familiar-looking girl sitting by herself in a green armchair, a Transfiguration book open on her lap.

_Ah, something else I forgot to do yesterday_, he thought, swinging by the side of the chair. "Cedrella? Go with me to the ball this Friday?" He asked, putting a roguish smirk on his face. Cedrella smiled and nodded. "Sure, I'd love to."

"Good. See you then," he replied, heading towards the door and his morning classes.

* * *

Hermione caught Tom heading to his Divination class, and figured her job of tormenting him would be taken care of by the class itself. If it was anything like Trelawney's class in her time, it was a complete waste of time. According to her, most of the people claiming to be "Seers" were in fact complete fakes, and besides, what was the point of knowing the future when it could be changed at any moment?

"Meet me in the Room of Requirement after," she told him, figuring that was the best place. She couldn't keep counting on the Slytherin room being empty, and she didn't really feel like going back there anytime soon. Now, all she had to do was wait. All she had was time.

* * *

Tom entered the divination classroom, which was on the sixth floor in a large room. It was dark, with tapestries covering the walls and blocking out the natural light, which was replaced by small tinted glass Indian-style chandeliers and a roaring fire in the corner fireplace. It was always uncomfortably stifling in that room; all of the tapestries on the walls and ceiling served to keep the heat in the room, making it a good deal warmer than the airy hallway.

The small-backed plush chairs around the room were arranged in groups of four around small wooden tables, and Tom settled into an orange one along with the rest of the Slytherin students he'd walked there with. The chairs were either revolting shades of orange, red, or pink, and Tom would never be caught sitting in one of the red or pink ones. Especially how most of the pink chairs were stained from spilled teacups, as the week before they were reading tea leaves.

With a few minutes to go until class starts, most of the students had already gotten there. There were mostly Slytherins and Ravenclaws in the room, but a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had made the NEWT-level class. Tom would never admit it, but he secretly held a great respect for this field, although his own aptitude in it had never been as great as he had hoped. He believed that the ability to know and 

predict the future was an amazing skill, and he did all he could to figure out the blank fog in his crystal ball or the mush of tea leaves in his blue-rimmed china cup.

With a grand flourish of silk robes and scarves in the matching shades of orange and pink, the Divination professor, Melinda Branstone, fluttered into the room, turning up the brightness of the nearly-opaque lamps with a flick of her wand.

"Alright class," she said in an overly dramatic voice. "Today we will be continuing our exploration of your futures by utilizing the crystal ball," she proclaimed. "Last Friday, one of you was fortunate enough to see the outcome of the Quidditch match"—she grinned appreciatively at one of the Ravenclaws—"but today I will be helping each of you individually in deciphering what you see within the haze of the orb."

She flicked her wand again, and crystal balls appeared on each wooden table before a student in a plush armchair. Tom leaned in with interest, one hand already grasping the pewter base of the crystal ball to slide it closer to the edge of the table.

"You may begin," Professor Branstone concluded, approaching the Gryffindor table as she began to coach them on the proper interpretation of the swirling smoke inside the crystal spheres.

Tom leaned forward in his chair, placing both hands on the smooth crystal as he turned the globe, trying to sense anything within its murky depths. The crystal was unnaturally cool, which was a blessing in the humid room. Tom cupped the globe in his hands, tilting it up as he looked deeper in.

Suddenly, Tom's eyes locked with one particular curl of the smoke, which had begun to twist itself into some sort of curling ribbon—no, it looked more like a tube of some sort, it wasn't flat. An insect? A worm perhaps?

_A Slug_…he thought as he tried to contain the excited feeling deep in his stomach. _It must have something to do with the Slug Club ball_.

His eyes never strayed from the writhing slug, which had now begun to morph, changing into something longer and more defined…it was a person, that was clear enough. The edges of the smoke-person were darker, and Tom could clearly make out the ruffles of a dress. _It's a girl_, he thought with confusion.

The scene changed again, and Tom squinted to see what was left. It was changing too fast, he couldn't see it all. Some sort of circular object…perhaps a flower? And something bright, like the moon or stars. _The ball _is_ at night_, he reflected, trying to see more.

He shifted the globe again, but all he could see was fog. The dense haze of the crystal ball covered up everything else, until he could no longer see any signs of any of the things he had seen in the ball earlier.

He tilted the ball again, leaning in closer to try and see more, but the images were gone, replaced with the rolling fog. His eyes narrowed as his fingers clenched around the crystal ball. _I was so close, why did it have to stop? I could've seen more_…

Suddenly, a hand clamped down on Tom's shoulder and he jumped back in surprise, twisting his head to see who was bothering him. It was Professor Branstone, an orange kerchief covering her curly blond hair as she noted how intense his connection with the crystal ball was.

"Mr. Riddle, did you See into the crystal ball?" She asked excitedly. Tom tried to cover his nauseated expressions; he'd say anything just to get her to let go of him.

"Let me try, my boy!" She cried, moving to grab the crystal ball from him. Tom was about to protest, but he couldn't do it in a way that wouldn't look suspicious. "I hadn't seen anything yet, I think I've got it under control," he said, making to slide the crystal ball across the table away from Professor Branstone.

"_This_ particular crystal ball has a knack for making true predictions!" Branstone said blissfully as her hand grabbed the top of the crystal at the same time that Tom moved the base over. Before any of them could even blink, the crystal ball had toppled over the table, breaking apart on the floor in a convenient square where no rugs covered the hard stone.

Tom had immediately tried to grab the crystal as it fell, his other hand returning to his side to hide the fact that he was also moving the crystal ball. He hid his triumphant smirk well, feigning shock and surprise.

When the crystal ball hit the stone, the crystal shell cracked into several sharp-edged shards, bits of the glass littering the stone and sticking to the nearby carpet. The rolling fog contained inside the sphere had risen out of the globe and into the air, forming elegant curves and spirals before dissipating into nothingness.

"Oh, no!" Branstone wailed, clasping her hands to the side of her kerchief-covered head as she knelt on the floor, picking up the dented pewter base with one hand before letting it drop back to the ground.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked the professor, putting on his most concerned face. Truly, he should've won an award for this.

"Yes, Mr. Riddle, I'm alright," Professor Branstone replied, adjusting an orange-patterned scarf with one hand, loosening the knotted fabric. "But, I am afraid I will not be for long. Disastrous events befall a person who breaks a crystal ball! Especially one as clairvoyant as this! Beware, all kinds of misery shall transpire upon us!"

She continued to shout about the "damage to one's soul" breaking a crystal ball entails, and Tom was finding it harder and harder to keep the concerned expression from cracking and turning into one of almost-panic. Alright, so maybe the gold award would become a silver or bronze. And his soul was already damaged, so no harm there. But this "eternal misery" and "seven years of bad luck" nonsense his professor was rambling on about…that wouldn't affect him, would it?

"I think I shall return to my office now," Professor Branstone said weakly. "Class is dismissed."

The class jumped up happily, heading for the door to the blissfully-temperate outside hallway. Tom packed up his books slowly, listening to Professor Branstone mumble about "warding the office" as he headed to the door. Suddenly, the small room became a million times more stifling and constricting. He left quickly, hurrying to tell Hermione that there had been a change in the place of meeting.

Hermione was waiting outside the archway to the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor, tapping one foot impatiently. She had ducked her head inside earlier, just to be sure that no one was using it or that Tom himself wasn't in there already. It was empty; just the creepily blank gray surface that signaled that the room was unused and unoccupied.

Her foot-tapping increased in intensity until she saw the familiar face of Tom as he rounded the stairs and started walking towards her. "Good," she called. "You were almost late."

Tom said nothing, but continued to walk past her with a smirk on his face. "And _where_ do you think you are going?" Hermione asked, her hands on her hips. "Change of plans," Tom told her without turning around. "I've decided I want to be outside today." He continued down the hall, leaving Hermione sputtering behind him as she hurried to catch up.

As he was much taller than Hermione, he had a much longer stride, with Hermione shuffling along beside him, shooting him a fresh glare every couple of seconds.

He's_ decided! How _dare_ he do this! Like I have no say in the matter at all, I have to follow him just to assuage my worries about that stupid dream! _Hermione ranted internally. _And besides, it would be _much_ more comfortable indoors!_

As they walked down the stairs and headed towards one of the giant doors that led to the outside paths and gardens, Hermione had to admit it did seem nice out. She glared at Tom again for not holding the door open for her; being able to walk through it was definitely _not_ a good excuse.

The sun was brightly shining overhead, one of those rare days where it is simultaneously both warm and sunny in Britain. She and Tom walked towards one of the paths that made its way down to the huge lake below the castle, the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest on their right.

"Uh…nice weather," Hermione commented, as Tom had yet to say a word to her since they started walking.

"If all you had to talk to me about was the weather, you could have done it inside the castle," Tom replied gruffly.

"For your information, _Riddle_, I wanted to talk to you about something…important!" She said, hesitating a little at the word 'important.' A simple dream could hardly hold that much importance, but Hermione wanted the answers she'd been denied for so long.

"Did you, err…" Hermione trailed off, mustering her Gryffindor courage. _Just get it all out_. "Did you happen to have a dream last night?" She asked, cringing slightly at Tom's inquisitive look.

"A dream?" He mocked, and Hermione cringed further at the sarcasm in his words. "Please be more specific, your question is rather vague."

_It was vague on purpose. Prat._ Hermione wanted nothing more than to smack him. They were walking next to a small jut-out of rocks over the lake, and Hermione was struck with inspiration. She'd wipe that smug smile off his face.

"Isn't it pretty?" Hermione asked, grabbing Tom's arm and pulling him out of the shade of the trees and into the sun on the rock overlooking the lake.

"Again with the weather?" Tom asked exasperatingly, pulling his arm out of her grip, although he did walk out onto the rock with her. She gauged the drop; it was less than five feet. He'd live.

"Tom, you're the one that keeps bringing it up," Hermione responded cheerfully. "Although I heard that there was going to be some unsuspected showers today," she said, scanning the cloudless sky. Tom narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but before he could move away Hermione had grabbed his arm again, twisting him around and pushing his back so that he fell off of the rock.

However, Hermione's smile of satisfaction lasted for all of two seconds when she realized that Tom had grabbed onto her as he fell, such that the two of them were pulled head-first into the lake.

Hermione gasped in shock as she was enveloped by the freezing-cold water. While she couldn't feel the water directly, the sensation was similar to putting a latex glove on your hand and sticking it in a sink of water. You could sense it was cold, but you couldn't feel any of the water directly unless your hand went farther in past the opening of the glove. Then, the water would rush in, and you could feel both the water and the glove simultaneously.

As Hermione's head disappeared under the surface, she experienced something similar. She opened her eyes, holding her breath in as she kicked out with her feet to re-right herself. She shivered—if it is even possible to shiver underwater—as the strange feeling of coolness without moisture surrounded her. Similar to the feeling of walking through an empty Room of Requirement, it was just unnaturally strange.

She kicked again, rising upwards and breaking through the surface of the water, sucking in gulps of air as her head and shoulders emerged. She had been holding her breath the entire time, out of habit or because she didn't want to test whether or not a ghost in her situation could breathe underwater, she didn't know.

Tom had yet to surface, and Hermione scanned the water for him, twisting around as she treaded to keep herself afloat. Then, several feet to her right, Tom surfaced, coughing as he wiped his wet hair from his eyes.

Hermione scowled upon seeing him, raising her hands out of the water and bringing them down again sharply to splash him in the face.

Tom recoiled instantly; he was obviously not expecting that. He rubbed his eyes, glaring at her as he brushed his hair out of his face again. "What was that for?" He asked crossly.

_Is he serious?_ Hermione thought, and didn't know whether to laugh or splash him again for that. Instead, she simply answered his question honestly. "You pulled me in the lake!" She cried, expertly treading water through the waves that rose around them.

"You pushed me in," Tom replied accusingly.

"Well, you deserved it," Hermione told him matter-of-factly. She would have crossed her arms if she didn't need them to keep her balance.

At a temporary stalemate, the two began to glare at each other again, until Tom got a funny look on his face. Hermione gave him a quizzical stare, expecting him to tell her what he found so amusing. "What is it?" She asked tightly.

Tom's mouth broke into another smirk, and he told her, "You do know the Giant Squid is right behind you."

Hermione turned, and sure enough she saw the head of the Giant Squid rising a few inches out of the water several feet behind her. Hermione's mouth dropped into a perfect 'O' as its tentacles started reaching towards her.

"Eeeeks!" Hermione screamed, and swam away from it as fast as she could, flailing in the water as she kept feeling what could be the touch of tentacles on her arms or legs. Choosing the lesser of two pests, she swam around behind Tom, who got a strangely panicked expression on his face as the Giant Squid began to swim towards him instead.

Hermione kept swimming, snickering inwardly as she noticed Tom turn and begin swimming towards shore with more rapidity than she thought he was capable of. As Hermione staggered onto the shore close to the start of the path they had taken earlier, she burst into laughter, leaning against one of the giant rocks that made up the cliff bordering the lake that the school was situated upon.

Tom rose out of the water a few seconds after her, looking like a drowned cat, his hair once again in his eyes and his robes heavy with water. He glared at Hermione, who kept laughing, as he raised the hem of the robe and squeezed the water out of it with one hand. Once he had made it off the shallow amount of sand that comprised the 'beach,' he pulled his wand out of his pocket, casting a drying spell on himself.

Hermione had to laugh again, as his hair was standing at odd angles and looked slightly puffy after the drying spell had been used on it. "So, scared of Giant Squids, are you?" Tom asked, hoping to get Hermione to stop laughing; it was increasingly obvious to him that it was _him_ she was laughing at.

Hermione grinned; he may not have been scared, but he _did_ look pretty freaked out. "Oh, come on, the Giant Squid is nice! It was only looking for some love!" She delighted in the disgusted expression on Tom's face, as she caught the muttered phrase "suggest calamari for dinner to the house-elves."

Hermione shivered again slightly; standing right by the water, there was nothing to block the breeze. "Come on, let's go up here," she said, walking back to the path and heading up the hill back to the school.

"So," Tom asked, deftly bringing the conversation back to where it had been before they found Hermione's prediction about "unexpected showers" true. "You asked me if I had a dream last night. Now I'm asking you what you meant by that."

Hermione gulped, pivoting on the spot to turn back and face Tom. "Do you think it is possible for ghosts like me to dream?"

"You're evading the question, but I suppose so. Why would it be impossible?" Tom replied.

Hermione shrugged. She hadn't read much about people in pensieves dreaming in the books she had gotten from the library, but alleged that there must have been _something_ there. How else could you explain this?

"I just wanted to know what you dreamt about," she asked. _There is no way I'm going to tell him about my dream_, Hermione thought. _If it turns out that it really was him somehow…_

"I had a dream about some sort of ball," Tom said offhandedly. "It wasn't masked or anything…I think you might have been there." His subtle hint was all Hermione needed to confirm her thoughts.

"What a coincidence," she said slowly, her mouth suddenly dry. "That's what I dreamt about too."

She looked up at him, expecting to see some kind of mockery or deception in his eyes, but she saw nothing. She could read nothing from him. "Do you think….was that really you in my dream?" She asked, her voice wavering.

"Yes, I do," he replied, watching with a hint of a smile on his face as Hermione's mouth dropped open again and she looked away, searching for the right words to say to somehow explain how they had crossed over into each other's minds like that. But she had no words, because it was completely illogical. There was no reason _anyone_ should want to dream about Tom Marvolo Riddle.

But apparently, he had wanted to dream about her as much as she had wanted to dream about him.

* * *

A/N: Ok, I've split this "chapter" into two sections, Part II will be coming in the next update. This chapter was getting really long so I decided to cut it in two.

I would also like to announce a new HG/TR fic I will be premiering today. The first chapter should be up by the time you read this, so I would love it if you would all check it out! It's completely fantasy, so some reviews or comments about it would be beyond helpful. Here's the info:

Title: Excelsior / Genre: Fantasy/Romance / Rating: T

Summary: In the magical world on the other side of Britain, seven Lords fight for the right to be crowned king by undertaking a quest to find a medallion. And how does Hermione Granger fit into its plan? AU, HG/TR

And, as always, reviews for this chapter would be amazing. We're nearing the last quarter or so of this fic, there'll be another 3- 4 chapters or so unless I can find more ways of extending the plot. So, any ideas would be wonderful! Thank you!

Love, Kako


	9. A Giant Squid of a Problem, Part II

Just Let Me Wake Up Already

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Never have, never will. Unless JK Rowling wants to give it to me for a very early birthday present? xD

A Chocolate Frog to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter: Evelyns Journey, TheCresentMoonWriter, My Misguided Fairytale, xXTwilight PrincessXx, LestatsLittleGirl, irene0222, MioneRocks, ElizabethRoy, 00Jade, and Sakura Takanouchi. Thank you all so much!

Evelyns Journey, the kiss in this chapter is for you! Enjoy! xD

This story has now reached over 4000 hits! Thank you everyone!

* * *

_Calling tears from deep inside, oh, you're so exquisite  
And in the mirror, all midnight eyes.  
Oh, If I could remain, but it's just a visit. All midnight eyes  
read "vacancy"  
Twisted, twisting_

_To the lovely dancing lights, I beg "May I cut in?" but they never stop playing  
"their song"  
Of a joyous soul they sing  
I've heard whispers. On a freezing note, I resonate_

_Just like romantic verses  
Just like a joyous end  
Just like a memory: it twists me_

"_This Celluloid Dream," A.F.I _

"_The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."_

_--Moulin Rouge_

* * *

_Recap of Chapter Eight:_

_But she had no words, because it was completely illogical. There was no reason anyone should want to dream about Tom Marvolo Riddle. _

_But apparently, he had wanted to dream about her as much as she had wanted to dream about him._

Chapter Nine: A Giant Squid of a Problem, Part II

Hermione swallowed, not liking where this conversation was going. She hated confronting her demons, and she hated to be proven wrong.

"So…how is that even possible?" She asked weakly, her voice breaking as she looked back into his eyes. Again, they were unreadable. He was still smiling slightly; like the kind of smile of a person who knows a secret someone else doesn't.

Tom still hadn't replied. Hermione tried another tack. "So was it _my_ dream, or yours?" She asked, although she had a suspicion she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him.

"Honestly, haven't I already told you this?" Tom asked, his voice showing a hint of aggravation. "It _was your dream_," he told her sharply. "Do you think I would subject my _own_ mind to that foolishness? You came up with it all, it was _your_ mind that constructed that _prison_."

A scathing retort was on the tip of Hermione's tongue, but she kept it in. _A prison? At least he didn't have to wear that ridiculous dress, _Hermione thought._ It could definitely have been worse, at least there was no corset. Talk about your prisons there_.

Suddenly Hermione's mind went dizzy with revelation. He said that he was in a prison, does that mean he was under her control while he was there? That all his actions were only for her benefit? That he acted how she _wanted_ him to act?

"So that wasn't really you," Hermione pointed out, noticing with a cringe how disappointed her voice sounded. At Tom's exasperated look, Hermione clarified quickly, "It _was_ you, but those weren't your actions."

"Yes, thanks to you," Tom replied bitterly.

If Hermione thought she was dizzy before, it was nothing compared to the sudden lightheaded rush she felt at her newest revelation. _The kiss...does that mean it only happened because I _wanted_ it to happen?_

At Hermione's slightly shocked expression, Tom's smirk returned. "So, enjoyed it the first time more than you let on, did you?" He asked mockingly.

Hermione glared at him, not bothering to argue against that when the facts spoke the truth so clearly. Some part of her had _wanted_ Tom to kiss her like that. He was there because she wanted it; he did the things he did because she had wanted him to. She was sure that this power role reversal did not sit well with Tom, and braced herself for his wrath.

She closed her eyes tightly, opening them after a second when she noticed Tom wasn't saying anything. She took a step back sharply when she realized that he had moved nearer to her and was about as close as when they had been dancing in the dream.

"Although," he asked, the smirk clearer on his face as he leaned over her. "I can't say I complain with my script. If I would have been free to do what I wanted, I would've done something very similar."

"Oh?" Hermione asked; her throat had once again become drier than sandpaper.

"Only…I'm sure it would have lasted longer," Tom hissed, his mouth next to her ear. Hermione blushed scarlet. Even though she technically held the power because of the dream, he still managed to take the control back in a flash.

"In case you haven't noticed, _Tom_," Hermione replied bravely, gathering all of her Gryffindor courage. "This is _reality_. We're not in a dream. What makes you think I'd let you kiss me again?" She glared stubbornly at him.

If it was possible, Tom's smirk deepened. "I don't think you'll try very hard to stop me," he told her. Although his voice was softer, the words still held an intensity that scared her. "But do try," he continued. "I love a good challenge."

Hermione gasped as soon as she heard the words, her surprise increasing when Tom grabbed one of her arms below the shoulder, taking advantage of her momentary surprise to lean forward and kiss her.

Hermione's first instinct was to push him away, but one of her arms locked in his made struggling difficult, and she got the impression that it would only encourage him anyway.

Like in her dream, his other hand had moved to the base of her head, his fingers dancing over her neck as he cradled her head in his palm, holding her close to him as his fingers moved to tangle themselves in her loose hair.

_Oh gosh, reality is a million times better_, Hermione thought as Tom deepened the kiss, tilting her head as he nibbled lightly on her lower lip, snaking his tongue into her mouth.

Hermione was lost in a haze of emotion; Tom's kisses always made her feel like her stomach was soaring above the clouds. Although currently there seemed to be a lightning storm going on in those clouds as Tom continued to kiss her, the hand on her arm rubbing circles over the fabric of her robe with his thumb.

Hermione was responding almost as intensely as Tom was; what resolve she had left when their dream kiss had been brought up vanished instantly the second his lips touched hers. He was rougher than his dream counterpart; but truthfully Hermione had to admit she didn't want gentle. This was one aspect where she actually _wanted_ Tom to take control.

They broke apart, Tom panting heavily. Hermione had to respond with a smirk of her own as their eyes met.

_And the best part? Technically, I don't need to breathe…_

"Hmm, reality _is_ better," Tom said after a pause, echoing her earlier thoughts perfectly.

Hermione was at a loss for words. It was like nothing had changed between them at all. _But what was I expecting? _Hermione thought. _For Tom to suddenly poof! into a prince? He's not a frog. _

"I'll see you later," Tom said with a smirk, noticing how distant Hermione appeared. Her eyes narrowed as he walked away, turning on the path and heading down the path that led around the hill they stood at the base of instead of walking back up to the school.

_That arrogant, sneaky, egotistical,—great kisser!—_her mind interjected. She sat down on the grass with a huff, already trying to push the memory away. Her lips still screamed for the contact of his, but she simply crossed her arms over her knees in an attempt to cross out the betraying thoughts.

Her logistical side took over; the only part of her brain whose nerves hadn't been fried by that amazing kiss. _What the HELL am I doing kissing him? _She thought. _This is Lord Voldemort! Ring any bells? The man who killed Harry's parents! Who killed countless other people!_

She bit her lip hesitatingly. _Technically, he's not yet. He hasn't done any of those things yet. True, he has killed a few people, but I can't hold his future acts against him now_.

She sighed. "I can't hate him anymore," she whispered, feeling the wind pick up around her as it rustled her hair.

She straightened suddenly, feeling the slight depression of the hill behind her leave her back reluctantly. _If I don't hate him, then what _do_ I feel?_

_I guess that also rules out all synonyms of 'hate,' _she thought with a small laugh.

Casting a quick glance around her, she was completely certain she was alone on the path. She couldn't see or hear anyone around her.

"Well," she began, speaking her thoughts aloud. "I don't _mind_ him, he's actually quite fun to talk to when he's not being his annoyingly patronizing self," she said as she narrowed her eyes slightly. "He's a great dancer and his kisses should probably be illegal," she finished, quashing the crooked smile that arose on her face when she thought of Tom's kisses.

_So add it up and what do you get? _She thought. "We're not _friends_ by any means," she continued, leaning back against the hill. "But we're more than just acquaintances. More like a friendship of convenience."

_Yeah, friends with "benefits," _Hermione thought sardonically. What friends routinely kiss like that?

She was even more confused than before. What _did_ that make them? He was obviously interested in her physically, to some extent—the kisses alone were proof of that—but why did she keep giving in? Why did she _want_ him to do it? She was Hermione Granger! She should be above such temptation.

_Dear God_, she thought as a hand flew to her mouth. _I can't…I can't _like_ him, can I?_

Now that she thought about it, it made perfect sense. She looked forward to seeing him when they talked, she dreamt about him dancing with her, and Amortentia even smelled like him to her! What more proof did she need?

Her breathing still hadn't stabilized, and even for a ghost her skin had turned strangely pale. _Oh my gosh, I do. I don't hate Tom Riddle, I actually like him_.

_This can't be good_.

_But it's just like_, she clarified quickly. _It's not L—that other thing. No way_.

But she was already trapped. Admitting she liked him was the first step across the plank hovering over a fathomless ocean. She couldn't keep denying this; even now she could still feel the sensation of his lips on hers. He was like an addiction, and she was hooked. She felt dizzy again.

She was falling; the realization alone was enough to make her mind spin. She sighed weakly, her hands shaking slightly. What could she do? What _would_ she do?

_Just get through it_, she thought. _Wait for the memories to run out, and return to my own time. What else can I do?_

Her first thought was that another 'meeting' in the Room of Requirement was in order, and she blushed at the thought.

_Well, I can enjoy it while I can_, she decided. If she was falling into a vortex she could never surface from, at least she'd have fun doing it. She knew she was sinking slowly, but worrying about it wouldn't make it any easier. If he ever found out about her feelings, he would have more power over her than she wanted to give him. He would take advantage of her again.

_Looks like there'll be a party on the Titanic today, _She thought with a grin.

_And I don't need to worry about what he thinks_, Hermione concluded. _That's obvious enough. He doesn't care for me, it's simply a physical attraction. But what he could see in me I don't know. _

_Maybe a willing victim? _She thought with a sort of bleak sarcasm.

The wind picked up again, and Hermione realized that the afternoon had almost completely wasted away. She stood up, absently brushing the sides of her robe in habit although there was no grass stuck to it like there normally would have been. She cast a wistful glance towards the castle, and then headed up the steep path up the hill. She hated confronting her demons.

* * *

Tom had returned swiftly to the Slytherin common room, the smirk still etched clearly on his face. _That girl really is more of a surprise than I could have ever guessed_, he thought. _She gives in so easily, but I don't tire of her like all the others._

He stopped suddenly, allowing a slightly confused expression to cross his face before he masked it again with the smirk. _Why _does_ she give in? She could stop me if she truly wanted to. Instead, she does nothing. _

_Why _is_ that?_

_Tom_ _was_ confused. He could not explain Hermione's recent change in demeanor towards him. It made no sense. In all the time he'd known her, she'd always kept as much of a stoic distance from him as he'd done towards her. And then she'd pushed him in the lake…

Tom frowned slightly. He remembered the grin on Hermione's face the second before she pushed him in. It wasn't the smile of someone exacting their revenge on an enemy; rather, it was the smile of someone playing a practical joke on a friend. It seemed genuine, and was one of the first times she'd opened herself up to him.

The first time was during the dream. He still didn't think she appreciated the significance of the fact that their minds were linked that night. That she had willingly brought him into her dream and allowed him to see a side of her that she hid during the day—that showed a level of trust that Tom was completely unfamiliar with. And he still didn't know _why_ she did it.

Tom still couldn't explain what changed between them since that dream. It's not like she could decide what she was dreaming. After all, dreams are often unexplained things, that is in their nature_. _Dreams represent the things that we want, and the things we can never have. Dreams represent the tangible and the intangible in our lives. Dreams are immortal and precious.

_Dreams are stupid_, he thought with disgust. _Wishing for things that are impossible is a defense of the weak. That is why I don't dream_, he reasoned. _I have everything I want, and I know how to get the things I don't already have_.

Another idea sparked in Tom's mind. _Maybe Hermione's change in behavior means that the memories are finally running out?_

He ignored the strange tang deep in his stomach, taking it for excitement at the potential of finally being rid of the annoying ghost.

_She's done enough interfering in my life_, he thought as he walked through the halls of Hogwarts, heading towards the Slytherin dorms. He paused in front of the stone entrance, gritting his teeth when he saw the two Malfoy brothers approaching the entrance from the other side.

_What nonsense do they foolishly feel they need to share today? _Tom thought, feeling particularly annoyed for some unknown reason. He had just been feeling excited about the prospect of parting ways from Hermione, so why was he so sullen?

"Hello, Tom," Aidan spoke respectfully first, his younger brother casting a nervous glance back at Aidan before hesitatingly speaking, "Tom, there's something—"

"I don't have time for this, Malfoy," Tom cut him off, turning to the stone wall and stating the password loudly, "Viridis." The wall dissolved into the wide frame they walked through, striding through to the middle of the common room. For a Tuesday, not many people were in the room, although a few younger Slytherins sat on the long green couch against one stone wall.

"We've…I've," Abraxas started to say, but Tom completely ignored him, walking up the staircase that lead to the dormitories. Within a matter of seconds, he was completely out of sight.

Abraxas turned to his brother, sighing. "Don't you notice it too? The way Tom is acting?"

Aidan looked confused, his gaze moving from the empty stairwell to his brother's inquiring expression. He shook his head.

"You don't see it? He's acting differently. Unusual. He's…" Abraxas trailed off in searching for the proper words and in hesitancy for speaking about his leader behind his back.

"He's not himself," Abraxas finished.

"I didn't notice anything wrong," Aidan said simply, earning a grimace of disgust from his brother. "It's a good thing _I _have all the brains in the family," he stated haughtily. "I'm _going_ to get to the bottom of this. There's a reason Tom is acting this way, and it's beginning to affect us all."

At Aidan's still-confused expression, Abraxas heaved a sigh of annoyance. "Keep up, will you? You're almost as slow as Pollux. Whatever it is, it's affecting Tom's leadership of the Death Eaters. He's less severe, less callous. Just a couple of weeks ago we were hexing Mudbloods and enjoying the effects of the Chamber of Secrets. Now, we do nothing."

"Maybe that's where he goes off to," Aidan responded hopefully. Abraxas looked thoughtful, and then shook his head. "Listen, let's not speak of this to anyone. Okay?"

Aidan nodded his assent, and the two brothers departed; Aidan to practice his Quidditch and Abraxas to think more about the recent changes in one Tom Marvolo Riddle.

_It looks like I'll be doing this on my own_, Abraxas thought as he decided to practice his Transfiguration by turning one of the green-shaded crystal lamps into an elegantly translucent crystal snake. It seemed to bend and twist with his magic, then settled into a coiled shape when he withdrew it.

_Yes,_ he thought with satisfaction. _I _will_ uncover the truth. And then, things can return to normal_.

_Things _will_ be normal once again._

* * *

Tom stood at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall right after it curved away from sight from the common room. His eyes narrowed in anger.

_So, little Malfoy junior thinks he has the authority to question _ME_? _Tom thought with rage, his hands already clenched into fists at his side. His wand was safely stowed in his pocket; otherwise he'd already have hexed the insolent brat out of existence.

_And what does he mean, I'm acting differently? _Tom thought, anger clashing with confusion. He was walking up the stairs normally when he heard Abraxas question his demeanor. _HIS_ demeanor! Of course, he had to stay and listen.

_My followers must follow my commands resolutely. I can have no one questioning my judgment_, he thought. _He must be set straight. _

Tom looked up thoughtfully. He needed a way to check in on the two Malfoys, and see if the younger one would spread his doubts to the others. He couldn't have that.

_I don't have the time to be constantly keeping my followers in line_, he thought angrily. _And it's not like Abraxas will_ _question me to my face. I need a way to be invisible..._

His face suddenly lit up in a cool smirk, an idea forming perfectly in his mind. The perfect solution.

…_Hermione_…

* * *

Hermione headed into the castle some time later, moving to walk close to the stone walls as it was nearing dinner time and she didn't want all the students of the different Houses walking through her.

She stared wistfully after a group of laughing and smiling Gryffindors walking into the Great Hall together, then instantly pursed her lips when she caught sight of a group of Slytherins striding down the hall in front of her. She recognized the sleek blond hair of a Malfoy, and tried to ignore him as she passed, although she caught snatches of their conversation.

"…so Bole, you agree with me that…" the Malfoy was saying before his voice was drowned out by the noise from the Great Hall as Hermione passed the open door, continuing to walk further down the hall. She kept walking, trying to decide what to do next. She was hesitant to try and sleep again; for fear that she would dream again and bring Tom into the dream with her. She could never control her dreams before, so she had no way of knowing if she would dream about him again, let alone dream at all.

_Oh, and here comes my nightmare,_ she thought jokingly as she saw Tom turn the corner and start walking down the hall towards her. Unfortunately for her, he was alone.

_Damn, too late to turn around or dash off into another room_, Hermione thought as her stomach lurched. She really didn't want to talk to him so soon after what had happened between them on the path outside. _Maybe he won't say anything?_

"I've got a job for you," he spoke out of the corner of his mouth as they drew closer. Hermione scowled.

"What am I, your errand girl? Get one of your lackeys to do it!" She spat, crossing her arms. _Yup, that definitely sounded convincing_.

"Unfortunately, this job _involves_ one of my…_lackeys_, as you so eloquently put it," Tom said calmly, moving over to block Hermione from continuing down the hall.

His cool exterior was only serving to make Hermione even angrier. _How in the hell does he manage to look so unruffled and blasé all the time? It's infuriating!_

Secretly, Hermione was slightly curious as to what he could possibly want her to do that he couldn't do himself. A thought crossed her mind as she smiled slightly. What could he give her for doing it for him?

"It's not like I would do anything for you for free," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Tell me what it is, and what you'll pay me for doing it."

Tom's amused smirk deepened as he raised an eyebrow. "Hermione, dearest, you've been spending far too much time in my company. You're acting quite like a Slytherin."

Hermione fought hard to keep from laughing. She ignored the 'dearest' comment, and _especially_ ignored the strange feeling his saying it brought on to her, moving to the 'Slytherin' remark. Coming from _him_, that was a strange kind of compliment. He was, after all, the Heir of Slytherin. That alone would make him kind of an expert on the subject.

"_What?_" She asked, a combination of shocked, disgusted, and skeptical.

Tom responded with an amused chuckle. "I would have thought it was impossible for you too, Hermione. A bit of snake in that brave Gryffindor exterior?"

"_What?_" She repeated.

"Don't you want to know what it is I'm asking of you?" Tom asked, reminding her of the original point of their conversation.

"_What_, then?" She asked, exaggerating the 'what.'

"You're going to follow Abraxas and Aidan Malfoy, and inform me if they continue to question my actions," Tom told her matter-of-factly.

Hermione nearly burst out laughing. "What, your 'intimidation and fear' routine isn't working anymore? You want me to keep your puppets in line? Isn't that _your_ job?" She ignored his silent glare, stifling a laugh again at his offer.

Tom backed Hermione up closer to the wall, obviously trying to prove Hermione's comment about his 'intimidation and fear routine' wrong. She glared back stubbornly, trying to prove _his_ 'Slytherin' comment wrong.

"So," he whispered in her ear. "What would you like as payment?"

Hermione fought the shiver that threatened to race through her body at his words and the threat of his touch. Sure, there were _plenty_ of things she wanted, but she would never bargain with Tom like this for them.

Hermione mustered her resolve and pushed Tom away from her. "Absolutely _nothing_, because I'm _not_ doing this for you!"

Suddenly, another voice interrupted them. "Tom, who were you talking to?" Abraxas asked curiously from the end of the hall. Tom moved past Hermione, who was appraising Abraxas with a curious glance.

_So, this is the person Tom wanted me to follow?_ She thought, grinning as she leaned against the wall. _He's the same guy I passed earlier. This could be interesting_.

"No one," Tom said, answering Abraxas' question.

"Alright," Abraxas answered unconvincingly. "Come on, let's go eat."

Tom strode past Abraxas, leading them into the Great Hall. Before walking in he turned, giving Hermione one last look. Hermione met his gaze for the second before he walked through the giant doors of the Great Hall.

She truly _was_ sinking; and the bottomless void of the sea she described earlier was perfectly synonymous with the dark depths of Tom's eyes. She was falling for Tom Riddle.

* * *

A/N: From here on out my updating schedule won't be quite so precise, I'm approaching my end-of-year exams so it might be hard for me to put out a chapter a week of all of my current fics. Instead I'll probably alternate between this fic and Excelsior until school lets out. I'll try and make it up to you all with longer chapters!

Also, "Viridis" means 'green' in Latin, again thanks to my handy Latin translator!

And Tom isn't quite there yet with the feelings, but did anyone catch that this is the first chapter where he refers to her by her name in his thoughts instead of just "that ghost" or "infuriating Gryffindor," etc? So he's on the way! xD

Also, I am very excited this fic has so many hits, but I would absolutely love more reviews. I would love to reach 100 reviews with this chapter, I've never done that with any of my fics before. So if this chapter has inspired you or if you have anything to say about this chapter, the fic in general, concrit, etc, I'd love to hear about it. Good or bad, I'll take it all! Thank you!

Love, Kako


	10. Chamberless Secrets

Just Let Me Wake Up Already

Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own HP.

A/N: I finally reached 100 reviews! (screams for joy) Thank you everyone for helping me live out one of my fanfiction dreams!

Also, I have to apologize for the long wait, I got my wisdom teeth out and got a new laptop with an unworking Microsoft Word after my old one crashed, so I had to wait until that was loaded to write this.

A HUGE thank-you to everyone who reviewed on Chapter Nine: 00Jade, Charming-Lynn, xXTwilight PrincessXx, Evelyns Journey, Nerys, My Misguided Fairytale, irene0222, Capricorn91, DragonsRain, allycat1186, LestatsLittleGirl, Sakura Takanouchi, hpfanf, CartoonOni, and GitaMerah.

* * *

_So here I stand fighting what I feel for you  
Torn between what reason says and how I really feel  
And here I stand, wondering what to say to you  
Hoping that you feel the same, the same as I do_

_Would you be scared if I told you I like you?_

_And would you run if I told you I_

_Loved you?_

_--Marié Digby, "Voice on the Radio"_

* * *

_Recap of Chapter Nine:_

_She truly was sinking; and the bottomless void of the sea she described earlier was perfectly synonymous with the dark depths of Tom's eyes. She was falling for Tom Riddle. _

Chapter Ten: Chamberless Secrets

After Tom had left, Hermione sputtered behind in the hallway, words lost from half-formed sentences in her mind colliding with the angry fragments and confused words seeking vitality. She would _never_ do his dirty work like that; it would go against everything she stood for.

And that was exactly why she made a point to ignore anyone wearing the color green or having even the faintest look of someone who was up to no good. She had no business investigating them, and she did _not_, she kept reminding herself, want to keep listening to their conversations after she heard the first few opening words.

"Did you hear?" She heard a boy on her right whisper loudly, which made his words louder than if he had just been talking normally. "Abraxas had something he wanted to talk to us about in that empty classroom on the sixth floor."

Hermione scowled as she watched him leave along with the girl on his right, who elbowed him and told him to keep quiet. _I will not follow them, I will not follow them_, she repeated over and over in her head like a mantra, feeling her natural curiosity carry her over the stone floor in their direction anyway, a counter to her thoughts.

_Who am I kidding? I want to know_, she finally acknowledged. If it was important enough for Tom to have asked her to help, then it was information he badly wanted to know. And she could only help herself by knowing that information. She still in no way wanted to _share_ it with him.

She caught up to the dark-haired Slytherin boy who had the same dull-witted look that the Crabbe and Goyle of her day often wore. He was alone now, lumbering up the stairs slowly.

Hermione couldn't help the bold grin from appearing on her face. Once she found out what the problem was, she could always go gloat to Tom about how uninformed he was, or boast about how she knew everything that went on, while he knew nothing.

The fun wouldn't last long, but then again it had been so long since she had experienced 'fun' here. And teasing Tom Riddle was always fun in her book.

"Pollux!" Another, smaller Slytherin boy said, approaching the one Hermione had been following. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Bole," Pollux grunted in recognition. _Yup_, Hermione thought, _definitely one for the monosyllables_.

The two approached the apparently empty classroom, walking inside to greet at least a half-dozen other boys of varying years. Abraxas stood at the front of the room near the door, and he nodded as Pollux Black and Anthony Bole walked inside the classroom.

Abraxas removed a small green object from his pocket, prodding it with his wand. Hermione looked on, interested, as a green crystal snake pulsed and coiled in Abraxas' hand. He set it down, and it wriggled on the floor, heading for the door far quicker than one would think a crystal snake could travel.

"What's that?" Pollux asked. "We need a lookout," Abraxas replied confidently, proud of his magic. "The snake will warn us if anyone approaches the door." He waved at it as well with his wand, and the door sprang closed, a lock clicking into place.

"Now, I want to discuss something tonight that should be of great importance to all of us," Abraxas started, counting everyone in the room with one finger. He turned to Pollux. "Where is your sister?"

"She didn't think anything was wrong with him," Pollux answered simply, like uttering the sentence cost him too much energy. Aidan scowled from next to him, shifting nervously in place. "I don't think this is such a great idea," he muttered.

"Listen!" Abraxas said, regaining order. "We all are a part of the secret society known as the Death Eaters," he intoned.

Hermione snorted. _Secret? I don't think so_.

"When we were first created, we were told that the purpose of our group would be to create a new world order, where Muggles and Mudbloods would be the lowest, beneath us where they belong," he said. "They have no right to the magic that we get through our blood!"

The others in the room voiced their assent, as Hermione rolled her eyes.

"But lately I've noticed a change in our leader," Abraxas continued. "There is something keeping him from leading us like he has in the past. Something is distracting him."

Now Hermione was interested; _she_ believed that Tom was still acting the usual condescending jerk he had always been. But if the closest things he had to friends were noticing a change, then Hermione too would look out for it next time she saw him.

"I have tried to talk to him about it, but he denies any change these last few weeks," Abraxas said, his voice ringing off of the walls in the classroom as the rest of his audience had grown quiet. "I do not want to lose all we have worked for, but we are doomed unless he comes back to us. Tom Riddle is our leader, we will be led by none other."

Hermione was amazed by the passion in his voice, were _all_ Death Eaters this blindly certain in their ideals? They were loyal to the point where it even defied loyalty, and she wasn't sure how that was even possible.

"I agree," another Death Eater said, as one-by-one they all agreed that they were too afraid to voice their thoughts previously, or agreed to look out for the differences from now on.

"We need to confront him about this," Abraxas said, waiting until he had the other's support before saying this. Most immediately flinched or blanched at the thought of going against _Lord Voldemort_, even as a group.

"We wait until we have proof," Aidan said hesitatingly, unwilling still to side completely with his brother.

"Alright," Abraxas said, relieved. He cast a glance towards the door; the snake still hadn't appeared. They were safe for the night.

"Let's go back to the common room," he suggested, unlocking and opening the door with a flick of his wand as the translucent green snake slithered back in, then leapt to Abraxas' open palm. It coiled down and solidified, and he tucked it back into his pocket.

Hermione remained behind, mystified. _So, they are planning to cross Tom, in their own way_. She shook her head, trying to suppress a grin. _Lots of luck to them_.

Well, it certainly would be funny to see the look on Tom's face when he realized they were all opposing him for, apparently, not being _dedicated_ enough. What irony!

Hermione let out an actual laugh at this, and then walked through the door. _I wonder where he is?_

If Tom was in the common room, she wouldn't want to miss his expression when _his_ Death Eaters trooped in, surely returning from talking about _him_. But _he_ would need some sort of evidence himself, he couldn't just go around hurting people…no, wait, that is _exactly_ what he did.

Hermione felt her thoughts a jumbled-up mess of contradictions, and was relieved to finally be passing through the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

Which was horribly, anticlimactically, empty.

_Empty?!_ _How can it be empty?_

But it was, there was no one in the room. She wouldn't have noticed it, but even Abraxas' crystal snake had been restored to the lamp base he conjured it from.

The emptiness of the room only served to make Hermione more aggravated, who was beginning to feel the slight isolated feelings of one who is unable to talk to anyone, even though she desperately wants to.

_Oh, I wish I was real_, she thought, closing her eyes as she sank into a green armchair.

She cracked open one eye. _Well, that's an approach I haven't tried before_.

She closed her eyes again, crossing her fingers as she solemnly spoke, "I wish I was real. And visible," she added as an afterthought.

Opening her eyes again, she frowned as her pale, semitransparent body remained exactly as it was.

Nothing.

_Well, it was worth a shot_, she thought glumly, looking once more around the common room. For some reason she couldn't place, she wanted to talk to somebody.

She wanted to talk to Tom.

Even if it was just to gloat about the plotting of his disobedient subordinates, even if it was just to listen to _him_ talk about screwed-up _she_ was—she still felt incurably lonely sitting by herself in a room in shades of green.

Standing up, she resolved herself to find him. He was not in the common room, so maybe his dormitory?

She walked up the stairs again, phasing through the door to see the other Slytherin boys fast asleep, with looks of contented innocence on their faces that she was sure they had never displayed while awake, unless it was with the express purpose of evading trouble or blame.

Hermione scowled. _It's not even completely dark yet, what are they doing?_

She thought a bit more, devising a plausible explanation for the strangeness of events that evening. It would make sense for all the Death Eaters to go to sleep immediately upon returning to their dorms so that they wouldn't have to answer any possibly patent questions from Tom that they would rather wait to ask until the confrontation. That made sense.

Several of the seventh-years were now snoring, and Hermione turned from the room in a huff, stomping down the stairs although her added effort made no change in the silent demeanor of the room.

_If I was a Tom Riddle, where would I be?_ Hermione thought with a muffled laugh at the possible images that visualized in her mind.

Hermione finally decided on 'studying,' so she walked off in the direction of the library, noting how there still seemed to be a large amount of people wandering the halls and sitting in benches in alcoves in the walls, talking away or eating pocketed foods from dinner.

Once inside the library, Hermione scanned the aisles and tables, and could see no sign of Tom.

_Room of Requirement?_ She thought, shuddering. She didn't want to have to go in there.

Hermione stopped, leaning against a pillar. _If Tom wanted to be alone, where would he go?_

The answer was obvious, and popped into Hermione's mind the second after it uttered the question. _The Chamber of Secrets_.

It made sense; it was the only place in the entire castle where Tom held the sole key for entry. As far as he knew, he was the only one who knew its location and could access its interior.

Harry and Ron had told her, of course, where the entrance to the Chamber was, in what was now Myrtle's bathroom. Hermione made her way there now, a grin spreading to her face.

_Oh, I cannot _wait_ to see the look on Tom's face when he sees that I know about the Chamber_, she thought.

She made it to the abandoned bathroom on the second floor, cautiously sticking her head through the door before walking the rest of the way in. She peered to the left, trying to see if Myrtle was in the bathroom or not. There was water all over the floor, but she didn't see any sign of the ghost.

Approaching the sinks, Hermione studied them carefully. This was where she was told the entrance was, but she didn't know precisely where to pass through. She decided to just walk through to the middle, and hope that some sort of tunnel was there.

With a deep breath, Hermione took the first two steps into the grouped marble pedestals of the sinks, passing through the mirror as well until she was in some sort of hole between the sinks, the marble facing above her as well. Hermione looked down, and squeaked in surprise when she saw a huge tunnel-like hole dropping down into the distance.

Hermione wondered briefly why she wasn't falling, but decided to attribute it to her ghost-like state. She had never tried it before, but figured that she could glide or maybe even fly around if she wanted to, it was just more comfortable and natural to walk.

She angled her body better, and concentrated on lowering herself gently into the tunnel. She began to fall, moving slowly by just inches at first, but soon got used to the sensation and flew feet-first even faster down the winding chute, trying not to concentrate on the darkness as it enveloped her completely. She couldn't even see her own feet or arms as she plummeted blindly down the tunnel.

Hermione felt the edges of the tunnel drop out, and tried to slow her momentum as she felt her feet come into contact with something very hard, and very brittle. She stumbled, blinking as she tried to adjust to the absence of light in the cavern, and took a few more steps forward, feeling her feet shifting over the same material. She glanced downwards, and swallowed thickly when she saw a combination of disjointed rat bones and huge pieces of what appeared to be snake skin. From its intact form, she could tell that it had just been shed.

It stretched on for quite a bit, but Hermione could feel by the increasing warmness in the large cavern that she was going in the right direction. She felt relieved when she first saw the lit torches in the wall, outlining a huge door with two glittering carved snakes on the front, and handles made out of silver with inset emeralds.

_Won't be needing those_, she thought with a grin, phasing through the doors and into the Chamber.

Hermione was instantly struck by the sheer size of the Chamber, and knew that Tom had to be in there somewhere. Every pillar had a lit torch on it, and the warmth that filled the room was not stifling or humid, but pleasant and comforting.

She reached the center of the Chamber, looking around at the statues of snakes and the Slytherin House's founder. She still had yet to see his heir.

"Tom?" She called out, spinning on one foot to look in another direction. "I know you're in here, come on out!"

She heard a noise to her right, and was about to turn when she felt someone behind her, and one strong arm wound itself around her waist while the other spun her around, crushing her body to his while his other hand held her head in place, burying her face into his shoulder. Hermione breathed in, and she instantly relaxed at the unique scent of charcoal and smoke she associated with only him.

"Are you crazy?" Tom Riddle asked, still holding on to Hermione tightly. "What were you thinking, coming down here?"

Hermione, frozen in place by shock at his supposed concern, tried to move away but Tom's grip only tightened when she tried to wriggle free. "What are you doing?" She asked, her voice muffled by Tom's green robes against her cheek.

"Keep your eyes closed," Tom told her harshly as he shifted slightly, turning his head so that his chin almost brushed the top of Hermione's head. He spoke a few words in Parseltongue, and Hermione stiffened as she could feel the giant snake moving through vibrations in the floor.

"_What_ were you _thinking_?" Tom repeated, still holding on to her. "You don't know what would have happened to you if the Basilisk had seen you. You could have been killed."

Hermione was about to retort, 'and what do _you_ care,' but decided that saying that would definitely ruin the moment, or at least whatever 'moment' they were having. Instead, she responded ambiguously, shrugging, "I was petrified by it in my second year."

Tom stiffened again, but allowed Hermione to pull her head back so that she could look him clearly in the eyes. His arms dropped to her waist, but he still would not let him go. Hermione was surprised by the bluntness she saw in his eyes.

"Why did you come down here?" He asked harshly, and then eyed her suspiciously. "How do you know about the Chamber?"

Hermione shrugged, trying to feign indifference, shifting her gaze to a pillar to the right instead of on Tom's eyes.

"I'll ask you again," he asked, one hand leaving her waist to cup her chin, tilting her face back towards him. "How do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Hermione was about to cheekily respond, "Professor Binns told me," but figured that it was not the answer Tom was looking for. Instead, she casually replied, "Wouldn't you like to know what your insubordinate lackeys are plotting behind your back?"

Truthfully, they weren't really _plotting_ anything, but she scripted her words carefully to put the idea in Tom's mind. _And_, she reassured herself, _if I take the geography of the castle into account, it was literally 'behind his back.'_

"Why don't you tell me?" Tom asked.

"Why haven't you let go of me yet?" Hermione countered, keeping up answering each of his questions with another question.

"Did you come here to see me?" He asked.

Hermione wanted to answer, 'no, I came to see the snake,' but figured that hostility was probably not the best plan of attack when he could always offer to arrange a private meeting between the two. If not hostility, how about honesty?

"Why did you save me?" Hermione asked hesitantly, looking into his eyes for an undisguised answer. She took a step back, and he let her, his arms dropping as she took yet another step backwards, her eyes never leaving his. She could not discern any answer in his dark eyes, but saw along with herself reflected in them all the sadness of the world.

"Tom…" she began, but he turned away, breaking their connection. Her arms felt strangely cold, none of the warmth of the room penetrating her skin now that Tom's arms had left her.

"Leave," he told her. "If you have nothing to say to me, you should not have come."

Hermione studied the man in front of her—this man of twists and turns whose next move she never knew, whose motives were unknown, and whose very presence had the power to make her feel whole and safe yet uneasy and bare at the same time. Hermione was confused; he had _chosen_ to save her, when he could have done nothing. When she had searched for an answer, he had let her go, although she sensed that part of him had wanted to hold on to her forever. She felt that he was just as unsure as her—if pressed further about his motives, he would most likely blow up at her.

She turned as well, taking another step to her left to the entrance of the Chamber. She caught one last glimpse of his eyes as she looked back to the middle of the Chamber, but Tom turned away, striding back towards the statue of his ancestor, disappearing between two pillars into the shadows.

His eyes held a promise she could not discern. It was as though he wanted to take her back into his arms, but at the same time threaten her for causing these strange and unknown feelings.

Hermione's feet made no noise through the waterlogged stone floor of the Chamber as she padded towards the exit, unsure as to be angry, confused, or sad. She had come in to the Chamber to gloat over the information she knew, but was dismissed with hardly a word.

_It's not my fault_, she told herself. _If he would only open up to me…_

* * *

The moment Tom saw her, following her voice to the center of the Chamber as she unabashedly shouted his name, he knew he had to protect her.

He still couldn't believe she had been so _stupid_. Really, she considered herself smart. Wouldn't she have given a thought to the Basilisk that roams the tunnels and pipes around the Chamber? If it had seen her before he had, it would have attacked, thinking that it was protecting its master.

And that is exactly why Tom had been filled with the sudden urge to encircle the girl, to keep her safe from even the sheer _possibility_ that one glance from the Basilisk's eyes would kill her.

It was the thought that she would be taken from him that tore at him the most.

And _that_ is why he'd let her go so easily, torment raging in his own eyes, asking her, no, _telling_ her to leave.

Tom couldn't let her get that close to him that he wouldn't need to give it a second thought to protect her, this Muggle-born Gryffindor ghost of a girl. But he had, and she was.

_Hermione…_

Tom was a realist, he knew that Hermione would leave eventually. She had nothing holding her to this time, and she had so much waiting for her in that elusive future of hers.

She would never stay a ghost in this time, not even for _him_.

After all, what was he to her?

Tom didn't know, he didn't _care_; if she was a ghost then he would never have to share her with anyone. He could keep her all to himself.

_She would hate you for it_, his thoughts pricked away at his consciousness, driving themselves like needles into the part of him that continued to live in denial and ignorance. Especially when it came to Hermione.

_You like her_.

The idea sprung itself into his mind, and Tom had no idea where it came from. But he did not deny its validity.

"Yes. I do."

He answered in Parseltongue, afraid to even speak the words in English. If vocalized, it would mean the end of all he had convinced himself concerning her.

_You…love her?_

Tom bit his lower lip, sucking in a strong breath of air at the words that would not seem to erase themselves from his mind. "I…can't," he answered aloud, still in Parseltongue.

No. No, no, no. _I cannot let myself love her. She will leave me eventually, and I do not think I have the power to make her stay_.

The words were hard for Tom to admit, but when it came to magic this unknown, he had no knowledge of the beginnings, the boundaries, or even the basic _spells_.

He closed his eyes briefly, remembering how wonderful she felt in his arms. The familiar scent of her hair had wafted into his nostrils, the clean and bright combination of citrus fruit and rain. So unique to her.

Tom clenched his fingers into his palms, opening his eyes as he walked further into the Chamber to where he had put his books and things, giving those Malfoy dolts enough time to put together whatever haphazard plan they had convinced themselves would work, on whatever problem they had convinced themselves existed. If doubted again, he could always torture them to get the point across.

Tom Riddle never backed down from a challenge.

He set another silent one, his eyes narrowing as he issued a dare to whatever mysterious forces had brought Hermione to him in the first place. _Gods of Fate, whoever you might be, if you want your girl back, you are going to have to go through me_.

_Yes_, he thought, somewhat satisfied. Although no challenge in that form had been issued to him, he still read it as one. _I will not let her go that easily. _

He thought again about those blasted _feelings_ that always seemed to get in the way. She had never denied him before, but the thought that she _might_ made him feel unsettled, to say the least. She knew _nothing_: from the peculiarity of Amortentia's _specific_ fragrance to him, to the true sentiment behind the kisses that had given her some kind of foothold in this time, to the fact that whether or not it was intentional, the contentment he felt at dancing with her in her dream had been the first time he had experienced that feeling in quite a long time.

But, if he had paused to consider his place in her heart, he would never have known that he, also, knew nothing of _her_ true feelings.

* * *

A/N: I hope this extra-long chapter has more than made up for my lapse in updating. There are two more chapters until the end, unless I can stretch it out even more, although I am planning a sort-of sequel-ish thing, but you will all get more news on that later.

Also, there were two references to _The Odyssey_ and the movie version of _The Phantom of the Opera_, which I saw last night. Anyone catch them?

As always, if you liked this chapter, please review! Your comments always motivate me like nothing else.

Love, Kako


	11. As the Clock Strikes Twelve

Just Let Me Wake Up Already

Disclaimer: I do not own HP or any of its characters. I only have this plot, and several created Death Eater characters, but who really wants them? xD

A/N: thought I'd update tonight because today (July 20!) happens to be my birthday. Happy Birthday to me!

Thanks and a slice of cake to: Jess, Hpfanf, Sakura Takanouchi, Nerys, Coco96, Ankoku Dezaia, Ruby Red Sunshine, aries vs. leo, CartoonOni, Ilaaris, HarryGinnyJamesLily, Hatiti, My Misguided Fairytale, Bubbly.at.Heart, and PurplePeopleEater. Thanks for reviewing on Chapter Ten!

This is one of my favorite chapters, and I hope you all like it too!

* * *

_Remember, I will still be here  
As long as you hold me, in your memory_

_Remember, when your dreams have ended  
Time can be transcended  
Just remember me_

_I am the one star that keeps burning, so brightly,  
It is the last light, to fade into the rising sun_

_I'm with you  
whenever you tell, my story_

_Remember, I will still be here  
As long as you hold me, in your memory  
Remember me_

_I am the one voice in the cold wind, that whispers  
And if you listen, you'll hear me call across the sky_

_As long as I still can reach out, and touch you  
Then I will never die_

_Remember, I'll never leave you  
If you will only  
Remember me Remember me..._

—_Josh Groban, "Remember" _

* * *

_Recap from Chapter Ten:_

_But, if he had paused to consider his place in her heart, he would never have known that he, also, knew nothing of her true feelings._

Chapter Eleven: As the Clock Strikes Twelve

Oh, yes, the girl was mad.

Hermione could not believe the nerve of that man. She had never thought that she could ever _begin_ to understand Tom Riddle's actions or his thought processes, but the night's activities only put one continuously rotating thought in her mind:

_What the HELL_ _just happened?_

She wasn't so much confused as completely perplexed, utterly puzzled, and somewhat annoyed.

_Couldn't he just make up his mind for _once_?_

Hermione ticked off the occasions in her mind. _First he hates me, then he kisses me, then he's civil, then he hates me again, then he mocks me, then he protects me from a killer snake, then he hates me again. _

And there were only a few of those things she could blame on raging male hormones.

Hermione hated not knowing the answers to any questions raised in her schoolwork or about magic, so this was just downright exasperating.

_And if he doesn't want my help, so be it_, she thought. He had sent her on an espionage mission, and she, in some unknown fit of mental aberration, had actually complied with his request. And he had only turned her away.

The corners of her mouth quirked upwards as she let out a low laugh. She had often run into the same problems with Ron in her fifth year, where his pride and hotheadedness had often caused scrabbles between the two. Was it really that hard just to accept someone's help, and accept who they were and the care that they had to give?

Concern and sympathy were not pity, and compassion was not weakness. What was it that made this so hard to understand? Hermione got it instantly.

Well…maybe not always _instantly_. But she had learned to understand it, and her experiences both in the magical and Muggle realms had helped her sense of person grow.

_That stubborn, egotistical ass_, she scoffed. _By the time you get it, it'll be too late_.

She resigned herself to another night on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, but figured sleep was a long way coming. She almost didn't want to sleep—while life awake may not always be interesting, it was still time that she couldn't pass up; it was invaluable.

It was priceless.

Several hours later, Hermione was still awake, sitting on a red couch in the common room, her chin propped up on one hand as she leaned over the armrest.

Even if she had wanted to sleep, she was kept awake by the gaggle of Gryffindor girls laughing away slumber-party style in front of the fireplace, gossiping about an upcoming ball being held by Slughorn's 'Slug Club.' Apparently, the highlight of the conversation had been Susan's invitation to the ball by that "ruggedly handsome" Quidditch captain Michael.

_Is this some sort of torture? Am I being punished for something I did wrong?_

Listening to gossip had the strange power to completely lower a person's mental thinking ability, and Hermione couldn't put together a coherent thought without the phrases "Slug Club Ball" or "Oh my gosh!" running through her mind.

Hermione slumped over. _My punishment…_

All this dance-talk reminded her of her own fourth-year experience at the Yule Ball. She really hadn't had much fun, she reflected. She had spent _hours_ on her hair and dress, only to be fought over the whole night and made to feel horrible for her choice in dance partner.

If the conversations tonight were any indication, the times had not changed much. After Michael, the main conversation was about the multiple scandalous inter-house relationships.

Hermione snorted. _Really, it doesn't take much to grow a little maturity. _

_But these are the times, I suppose_, she thought. She had even heard rumors from these girls that some Slytherins even intended to hold pranks against the other Houses the next day.

Hermione yawned loudly. _Maybe all this will put me to sleep_, she thought jokingly.

She glanced outside the darkened window, and wondered briefly what Tom was doing at that moment.

* * *

Tom was in his Slytherin dormitory, the dark green curtains pulled around his bed as he reclined against his pillow, trying desperately to go to sleep.

Anything, really, to clear the onslaught of thoughts that barraged his mind as he tried to relax.

The thoughts he was having were _anything_ but relaxing.

He gritted his teeth, folding his hands behind his head, wishing briefly for more sleeping potion. Even the one that brought on strange dreams would be welcome, as his life seemed to be more dream than reality lately. It was an odd feeling, one he was unfamiliar with; time seemed to stretch on forever, while the days passed so quickly, and most of the time carried a sense of utter _boredom_ along with it. It was like he had nothing marking the days, so they blended together like a skillfully done Impressionist painting; from a distance, it seemed almost normal, but only close-up could one see the distinctions and abrupt changes in color.

But unlike the typical flower bushes or landscapes of normal Impressionist works, it seemed more like a fuzzy _Persistence of Memory_, with each clock bent out of shape, the hands blurry so that the time could not be read.

Tom wondered how long it had felt like that. A few days, maybe? He really didn't know, it wasn't the sort of thing he thought about normally.

He hadn't even thought about Hermione in the past hour or so; he'd been trying to concentrate his thoughts on anything else, even reciting Arithmancy formulas or the placement of stars or the diets of various magical creatures. _That _one, he reflected, was sure to put off sleep for at least another half-hour…

His almost mournful sentimentality of earlier in the night turned to stabbing anger.

_Why must that girl be so difficult? I…_

_I don't care what she does anymore_.

* * *

Hermione cracked open her eyes as the light flooded into the common room. She wasn't sure if she had been able to get to sleep or not, but she had been able to tune out the drone of voices and relax slightly, musing in that drowsy state between dreaming and waking. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant state of mind, as the body still recuperated while the mind was allowed free creative reign or simply meditated on the clearness.

_What to do today?_

At some level, she no longer cared. It wasn't like she had anything to do, anything to even get _up_ for. She stopped herself short of '_anything to live for_,' for there was always the possibility of going home, of becoming real, of _anything_ to alleviate the sheer boredom she felt at the raw truthfulness of the thought that she really _didn't_ have anything here.

That in itself was a very lonely thought.

Hermione wasn't all that familiar with loneliness, and the thought slightly scared her. Although she hated to admit it, Tom was really all she had.

The slightly prickled sensation crept back through her at the thought of going home. If it was possible, isn't that what she wanted?

An even more raw truth, Hermione realized that she no longer even knew what she wanted anymore.

…_Damn…_she thought. _And I was hoping I could avoid 'Tom-the-Terror' for another day at least…_

She laughed, that had a great ring to it. She wondered briefly what his reaction would be if she called him that to his face.

_Well, his reaction would prove it true, at any rate_, she laughed.

Hermione's thoughts drifted back towards her unusual situation, and the jumble of thoughts that clouded her head, the endless facts pointing in one direction while she found herself inexplicably moving in another.

For the first time here, she wished for some paper. If she could write down her thoughts, it would be like separating them. Or maybe a small pensieve of her own, she could dissect the causes of her feelings, figure out the source, the effects.

(_Emotions are not scientific…_)

It was the main way she approached a problem, and no one had told her that it doesn't work that way. It never did. If anything, it only caused more confusion. More pain.

The thought sparked something else in Hermione. Inquisitively, she focused on that single thought. _Do ghosts feel pain?_

_Of course not,_ she remembered. _Sir Nicholas can detach his head, and that doesn't hurt him_.

Hermione had never met the Grey Lady, or she would have known that emotional pain does indeed carry over into the spiritual, vaporous form they both shared.

(_And it HURTS…_)

It hurts a thousand times more than physical pain ever can. Particularly, wounds associated with that fickle emotion _love…_

Hermione was staring out the window, contemplating what to do. It was a nice day, she could go outside. She was in the proper mood; she could go antagonize Tom for a bit.

Hmm, that sounded nice. A little conversation, some verbal sparring, maybe a kiss if she was lucky…

_No, not thinking that route_, she told herself. _Not at all_. _Anything but_.

She hopped up from the couch, heading to the portrait hole and floating through the image. The sensation felt weird to her, kind of like the first time she'd done it, shivering at the odd feeling of occupying the same space as a solid object. Kind of like pinpricks, kind of like swimming through extremely heavy water. All-inclusive, and cold.

_Time to see what Tom's been up to…_

* * *

Tom was still in his room, so aggravated that he had faked illness to skip out on his classes. It wasn't hard: a few coughs, an understanding glance from Slughorn, and he had the rest of the day free to do whatever he wanted.

He glanced to his bedside table. Aidan, thinking the illness was real, had even gone to the trouble to procure assorted candies laced with healing droughts from the infirmary. Tom waved his wand lazily, setting the whole batch on fire.

He really needed to invest in some more intelligent followers.

He straightened his comforter with a flick of his wand, then turned back around to see that the small fire hadn't just burned itself out like he'd thought would happen, instead catching on a corner of the curtain bordering his bed, making the green fabric erupt in flames.

Tom instinctively cast '_Aguamenti_,' dousing the flames over the curtains and charred candy, snorting disapprovingly as he examined the ragged edges of the burned curtain.

Soft laughter from the entrance of the room jerked Tom out of his momentary reverie. He turned, his eyes widening slightly in surprise to see Hermione there, covering her mouth with one hand to try and stifle her laughter.

It really wasn't working, but the idea that _Tom Riddle_ had inadvertently set first candy, then curtains on fire was too much to pass up. Hermione chanced a glance at Tom's expression, and didn't know whether to immediately quit her laughter or laugh harder. She settled for the further, deciding that any efforts at a truce between the two would be short-lived if she started by practically laughing in his face.

"What are you here for?" Tom's words were slightly harsher than he intended for them to be.

"Well, to see the show, isn't that obvious?" She taunted. "What are you going to set on fire next? There's some particularly ugly wall-art in your common room, you could start with that." The laughter had returned, no matter how hard she tried to subdue it.

"What _was_ that stuff anyways?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the half-scorched, half-melted lump of candy. It actually looked quite disgusting.

Tom vanished it with a flick of his wand. "Anything else?" He asked, his voice mockingly calm.

"Hmm, possibly," she flounced further into the room, studying the burned curtains. "Why stop with the curtains? Scorch marks are in this year, I hear." Her words had practically set her own death sentence, but when it was this much fun the danger seemed not to register in her senses.

"Such a _trendsetter_," she mused. "Maybe the rest of the boys will scorch their own just to copy you?" The innocent grin was hard to maintain, and Hermione felt hers slipping under Tom's venomous glare.

"Ooh, the theme of the Slug Club ball is supposed to be a secret," Hermione continued, blatantly ignoring all the danger signals. "Maybe _you're_ in on it and burned the whole place, and…" she trailed off, waiting for a reaction.

"The theme is this fancy Victorian nonsense," Tom stated flatly.

"Oh, that's nice," Hermione responded automatically.

"Suppose _you're_ not going to go," Tom sneered. In return, Hermione offered a blankly indifferent look. "Why not?"

"Well, you're not real," Tom said frankly, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the posters at the foot of his bed.

"Hmm, I wonder what that says about your own mental processes," Hermione countered as she moved to open the dormitory window so the acrid smell of burned cloth could filter out. "Talking to someone who's not real, that must make you crazy."

Tom frowned. "Well—"

Hermione interrupted them, still riding the rails of that blissful train of indiscretion. "Thanks for suggesting it, I _might_ actually go now to the ball! Watch where you dance, or you might just _trip_," she mimed the action, delighting at the muscle in Tom's jaw that looked like it was ready to break free at any moment.

Suddenly, the angry expression was gone, replaced with a coldly calculating one. Hermione knew that look, but the euphoria was making her boldly unaware of its presence.

"You're _jealous_, aren't you?" Tom's tone was accusing and strident.

"Of course not," Hermione scoffed. "I've seen the girl, looks like she got on the wrong end of some Crabbe genes." She hesitated. "They're related, right?"

Tom ignored her. "You _are_." _Why on Earth would she be? She can't have expected any less to happen_. He paused mid-thought. _That doesn't mean she has to be happy of it_.

"Jealous of _what_," Hermione countered. "I'm _in _the Slug Club, and trust me, its _nothing_ to be jealous of. It's horrible _torture_." She recalled with a slight grin the similarities between last night's gossip-fest and the Slug Club meetings. Certainly the topics of conversation were different, but the flattery and discussions were the same. And the blatant subjectivity was obvious enough.

Tom never got the chance to respond to Hermione, for at that moment they both could hear footsteps on the stairs right before the door, and a hand jostling the doorknob. A wave of his wand, and Tom's curtains repaired themselves, setting Hermione off into a fit of laughter again.

In walked three Slytherins Hermione recognized from her appearance at their meeting the previous day: Aidan and Abraxas Malfoy, and Pollux Black. She opened her mouth in surprise, and then promptly closed it. Of course they had every right to be there, it was their dormitory as well as Tom's. She leaned back against the wall, a small smile on her face. If they were here to talk to Tom, that would be one interesting conversation.

"Lord Voldemort!" Abraxas Malfoy greeted him with a strange combination of both reverence and cheerfulness.

Tom glared down the three Death Eaters, obviously hating being interrupted. "_What_ are you doing here?" The question was addressed to them all, but Abraxas was the one who chose to answer it.

"We came to see you," he spoke slowly, his words obviously rehearsed. He didn't get very far along in his script, before Aidan looked around the room, a confused expression on his face.

"I heard another voice in here as we walked up," Aidan said. "Yeah, you were talking in here with someone!"

"I heard a voice too," Pollux added, obviously wanting to contribute something to the conversation.

"It was a girl's voice! I'm sure of it!" Aidan concluded proudly, not noticing the irate expression on Tom's face.

Hermione, meanwhile, had stopped laughing and was staring at the three Death Eaters curiously. _They had actually heard me?_

Hermione studied Tom's face for his reaction to their words, but he only looked languorously uncaring. His Death Eaters could each grow an extra set of ears and she doubted his mask would change.

"Alright, so where is she?" Pollux demanded, his voice much harsher than Hermione believed she had ever heard from him before.

"Where is _who_," Tom replied icily.

Pollux lumbered around the room, looking around the beds and finally returning to the door, leaning very close to where Hermione was standing. "My _sister_. Where _is_ she?" He repeated.

"Cedrella?" Aidan asked confusedly. There was complete silence in the room for several seconds. "We just _saw_ her in the common room, Pollux," Aidan gently reminded him.

That was all it took, Hermione burst out laughing again, moving to lean against the wall as she made no motion to silence her laughter. The others made no motions to show that they had even heard her, although Tom's eyes darted over to her position before settling back on the three minions. Really, it was almost _lucky_ that their bodies hadn't just collapsed from lack of brain activity.

Abraxas read the flicker in Tom's eyes in a completely different manner. "So there _was_ a girl in here!" He concluded, moving to the window. Hermione rushed back towards the corner as he occupied the space she had just recently stood in. "You flew her out the window!"

"That's ridiculous," Tom stated, affronted.

Pollux's forehead was contorted angrily. "You're _cheating_ on my sister?"

Tom's face darkened. "It appears neither of you remember who you are speaking to! Besides, it's not like Cedrella means anything to me."

At those words, Pollux turned and trudged out of the room. His heavy footsteps could be heard as he descended the stairs in the now-quiet room.

"And _where_ is he going?" Tom asked, focusing on Abraxas.

Abraxas swallowed. "Well, probably to tell his sister."

At this, Hermione dissolved into another fit of giggles as Tom headed out the door, bounding down the steps. This was playing out just like a soap opera! If only they knew the truth…

The giggling stopped. These three had basically just accused Tom of being involved in a romantic relationship with some nameless girl in the room…they meant _her_!

Well, she supposed it could be funny in another light.

Hermione followed the others out of the room, treading noiselessly on the stairs. A black-haired girl, supposedly Cedrella, was seated in a green chair, tears silently leaking down her face as Pollux did his best to comfort her. Hermione supposed they really did look related, in an obscurely twisted way. Where Pollux was bulky and tall, Cedrella was thin and short, her features and limbs shaped almost delicately.

Hermione stood off to the side, not wanting to be directly in front of the staircase in case anyone else wanted to join the fun. She couldn't see Tom's eyes, but figured that she really didn't want to. It was, if one chose to look at it that way, technically her fault he was accused of cheating anyway.

_Wait…_her eyes flashed from Cedrella to Tom. _He really _was_ cheating on her! With me!_

The knowledge that she was the 'other woman' in a sense was both extremely amusing and slightly horrifying, but Hermione was jolted back to the scene in front of her when she heard Cedrella speak quietly.

"Is it true?" She asked Tom, her tear-streaked face turned upwards towards him.

Tom's lips twisted into a cruel smile, his words, unlike Cedrella's, loud enough for the whole room to hear.

"Yes."

Cedrella ran, not even trying to stifle her tears as she tore away from the common room, running illogically through the halls of Hogwarts, rising up the flights of stairs until she finally collapsed against a wall, sobbing into the sleeves of her robe.

Hermione stared, horrified, at Tom as he turned towards her, his eyes seeming to lock straight with hers, although to everyone else he was only staring at empty air. He walked back up the stairs, and Hermione could faintly hear the sound of a door slamming.

The various people in the room all shrugged, turning back to their textbooks or magazines, the girls arranging themselves back into circles to gossip about this newest revelation, the boys making quick excuses to leave the room or go play sports or eat.

_Typical Slytherins_, Hermione scoffed, spinning on her heel and marching back up the staircase, not even bothering to warn him before floating through the solid wood, crossing her arms angrily as she glared at Tom, whose back was to her as he faced the window.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Hermione asked. Tom spun around to face her, the calm detached expression she had often associated with him only serving to make her angrier.

Tom's voice was quieter; while _she_ didn't have to control the volume of her words, he did not want to give the rest of the Slytherins downstairs anything else to chat about.

"Pollux and Aidan forced the situation," Tom said coolly, his own hands folded behind his back. "If they had never interfered, the situation would never have happened."

Hermione rolled her eyes; this was far more than a simple '_situation_.'

"That girl has emotions, and feelings! You _hurt_ her." Only after the words had left Hermione's mouth than she realized how absurd they actually sounded. He was Lord Voldemort—hurting people was his job.

"She'll get over it," Tom dismissed her words like they were nothing, and in his own attempt at desensitizing the situation did not notice how furious Hermione was with him. He wasn't paying attention to her, he wasn't attentive enough to the subtle differences in her posture and the set of her jaw that it was like all the work and effort put into their 'relationship' was crumbling away beneath them.

Tom was still studying her face; she should be _proud_ that he had chosen her, but no, she would reject him for the very act!

He moved a few steps closer to her, raising his arms to trail lightly along her own, raising goose bumps in their wake. He leaned closer to Hermione, and she could feel his breath against her neck. She could feel one of his hands turning her head slightly, but Hermione pulled away when his mouth began to descend towards hers.

"You…you bastard," she told him softly, backing away and running from the room, returning to the Gryffindor common room because that was the one place she knew he could never go after her.

Tom was left alone in the room, the soft breeze doing nothing to keep him from reminding himself that Hermione was no longer in his arms.

"Well, what did you expect?" He subvocalized, his voice barely audible even to his own ears.

* * *

_The next day…_

* * *

Tom stood alone in his room, his black dress robes on, his hair smoothed; the perfect image of flawlessness.

From the neck down, at least.

His face sported a deep scowl, making his somewhat classical features seem just that much more twisted, his lips firmly turned down as his eyes glared at his reflection, as though blaming it for something that he himself could never be blamed for.

The night of the ball, Tom Riddle was dateless.

Some part of him slowly admitted that it probably wasn't the best idea at the time to completely throw away Cedrella's affections. She would have come in handy, right about now. Although, he remembered distastefully, she had found herself a new date mere hours after she and Tom had fallen apart.

Pretty fast turnaround, even for a Slytherin.

He straightened the collar of his robes, half wishing he could just not go, just turn around and forget about its very existence.

He wasn't too keen on the idea from the start, but as the head of Slughorn's club, it would be a hit to his reputation not to attend. He had never felt the remotest bit of excitement about the ball, but tonight he seemed almost negative towards the whole idea.

He shrugged, his features melting back into the charming, diligent face that his professors associated him with.

It _was_ just a ball, after all. It's not like four hours of networking, being social, and dancing would kill a person.

He walked slowly out of the room, his polished shoes echoing heavily on the floor. Everyone else was probably there by now, already enjoying themselves.

_They are simply early_, Tom thought. I _am always on time._

* * *

Several minutes later, and Tom found himself in the Great Hall, which had been removed of benches and chairs and outfitted in such splendor that he was sure Slughorn's magical abilities could not have provided it. The ceiling, while still bewitched to show the night sky, instead zoomed around to different constellations, planets and other astrological bodies. There was a string quintet currently playing in the front of the Hall, with the instrument's bows moving magically over the instruments, hovering and playing without a body to guide them.

Tom's presence drew the majority of the people to him like a magnet. Professors like Slughorn welcomed him, mumbling apologies about the unfairness of "unrequited teenage love." Tom was sure that a long and overly informative story was sure to follow, and he quickly ducked away from Slughorn and into a conversation with another of Slughorn's 'celebrity' friends, faking interest in dragon hunting or broomstick making, _whichever_ the person did, it all became a blur after the first few minutes.

Whenever a dance were to strike up, Tom felt terribly awkward. He would alternate between leaning on columns or talking with other Professors or special guests, commenting on the astounding magic used in the decorations or other forced flattery that would usually make his stomach queasy.

Tom had been surreptitiously keeping an eye out for two people that night, although he would never admit to either. The first was Cedrella; he was somewhat curious as to who she had found as her new date—although he had seen no sight of her the entire night. He had tried to ask Slughorn casually, who made it a point to talk to each student invited at least once throughout the night, but the Potions Professor merely gave him a sympathetic look, and pointed him instead in the direction of the food table, with the adage that "chocolate cures all problems, but especially those of the heart."

_Slughorn must've had several "heart" problems, and all too recently_, Tom thought critically as he noted the rather strained buttons on Slughorn's waistcoat.

Even changing the topic in his mind did little to put the second person far from Tom's consciousness. The girl with her mass of tangled curls and eyes that so often were turned disapprovingly towards him, _she_ was the one he could not even hope to not think about.

And Hermione Granger was nowhere to be seen.

Not that he didn't think she _would_ stay away; he was sure she would make an appearance sometime during the night. She was homesick, bored, and couldn't stay away from him.

Tom was forced to endure another half-hour of scorching agony as several unattached women asked him to dance to particularly slow songs, one right after the other. He was sure the group of girls had planned this; every time he tried to escape, one would corner him in front of a Professor and Tom would be obliged to smile, offer his arm to the lady, and graciously ask her to "do him the honor" of dancing with her.

Tom froze.

And there she was, looking in from a window far off near a corner, leaning in as if to get close enough to the light and societal feelings emanating from the room. She had not entered, almost as if she didn't want to intrude on the moment. Her eyes had widened slightly upon seeing the room, with its many couples whirling in sync on the dance floor, nearly every patron and guest involved in the complicated dance or in other ways positioned across the room, their movements and places almost posed in their appearance.

Tom's concentration was broken when he caught sight of another hopeful looking girl in front of him, gritting his teeth under his cool grin in preparation for another five minutes or so of torture.

_This one looks like a female Slughorn…_

Luckily for Tom, this particular dance was a contra dance, where the couples routinely broke apart and turned in formations with the other couples around them. Tom had merely seized the first opportunity, and ducked out of the dance when he turned close enough to the milling crowd behind him. Less than three minutes later, and he was headed for the double doors to the outside, Hermione's form already gone from the window.

Tom frowned. He would find her.

* * *

Hermione had sat in the Gryffindor girl's dormitory for hours, sitting on the same place where her own bed was in her time.

She missed it. Terribly.

She realized how many small things she took for granted that she didn't have in this time, like talking to friends, eating, participating in class; things that until now had always been staples in her life.

_The only thing, ironically, that I have is Tom_, she recognized.

_But how can I even count him when I don't even know what I am to him?_

Hermione found herself inexplicably drawn to Tom, she acknowledged that much. But to what degree, she had always been careful to ignore.

Extremely, extremely careful.

Which is why she found herself now in such a position, torn between wanting to know the solid truth, more solid than she herself even felt now, how Tom felt about her and wanting to avoid the question entirely to save herself the damage if the answer was that heart-breaking and soul-destroying '_nothing_.'

She _needed_ to know the truth. It was like the food or water she needed in this time. While she could live without those particular basics, truth and knowledge were her food, and she was currently starving.

She was still running over their most recent words together in her mind. True, Tom had been a bit of an ass, but she would never want him to change. It was all of him, even the arrogant, commanding part, that excited her.

She had immediately decided upon visiting the ball briefly, then spent the rest of the afternoon trying to convince herself how horrible an idea it was.

Needless to say, it hadn't worked, which is how she found herself in the dark creeping up to one of the tall cathedral-style windows in the Great Hall, the glass panels crisscrossed with black in the tall arches and sweeping lines usually reserved for color in stained-glass windows.

Hermione peered in the window, frowning at how grimy it was. She moved down a panel, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the back of Tom's head, dancing with some unknown girl in a dark blue dress who looked about ready to faint from happiness.

When they spun around, Hermione was clearly able to see Tom's face for the first time that night.

For some reason, she was delighted in the fact that Tom looked completely miserable.

She moved down yet another window, closer to the corner and further from the dancing. She didn't want him to notice her, and something about the dancing just set her nerves off slightly.

And then it clicked.

The silk banners covering the lower parts of the ceiling and the arched columns, the gold, bronze, and silver colors covering the checkerboard-looking floor and the highlighted stage, with the charmed orchestra finishing the dying strains of a waltz. The girls in their multicolored dresses of taffeta, silk, velvet, or other luxurious fabrics twirling in unison on the arms of men who looked equally as impressive, their synchronization unnerving and at the same time artistic.

It reminded Hermione uncannily of her dream.

She thought about it as _The_ dream, for none could even _hope_ to come close in the future to the sheer sense of _reality_ the dream evoked in her, and the true fantasy she experienced and her concluding dance with Tom Marvolo Riddle.

She could hardly hope for the same thing to happen here; for one, she was _invisible_. She could hardly find herself in the same beautiful dress, feeling confident and beautiful in the arms of a gorgeous stranger she barely remembered.

No, dreams were a fantasy. This _was_ reality. For all she knew, the girl dancing with Tom was his new date.

She frowned slightly. _Then why would he look so unhappy?_

She found him again, dancing close to the edge of the swirling couples with a completely different girl. He spun again, and their eyes met.

It was a strangely disconcerting experience, Hermione reflected, how his eyes seemed to have the power to see right through her with no effort on his part. And not just physically, but emotionally. It was like the way she felt walking through walls; it felt exactly the same each time she did it, and she doubted she would ever get used to the sensation.

Hermione turned away from the window, walking back into the darkness of the courtyard. The similarities to the dream…it was all too much. It was like it was mocking her, with its unnatural perfection, but this time excluding her to the outside.

_No more…_

* * *

Tom managed to sneak out of the ballroom-turned Great Hall with surprisingly little difficulty, heading outside to where he supposed Hermione had gone. He couldn't place it, but he felt an extreme sense of urgency in finding her.

He didn't even know what he would say to her when that happened.

The courtyards were darkened, and Tom made his way around turned-off fountains or flowering shrubs with only the light from his wand, grimacing when the toe of his shoe caught on a large sunken rock.

She laughed, and he turned around and saw her.

With the slight transparency of her body, it almost looked like she was glowing, but at the same time blending into the shadows whenever clouds would bury the waning moon beneath their silken cover.

Tom waved his wand once more, and the lamps in the courtyard and outdoor pathways lit, illuminating the evening in a soft glow. Tom walked a few steps towards Hermione, the words already out of his mouth before he even had time to think them over twice.

"Dance with me."

They both looked shocked at the words, Tom covering his surprise quickly while Hermione's mouth dropped into a perfect 'o,' blushing slightly as Tom held out his hand to her.

Hermione smiled lightly; she _also_ didn't need to think twice about her decision. She placed her hand in his, and he swept her into a light waltz, guided by the faint strains of the quintet in the Great Hall. He held her close, their eyes locked as their feet moved together, somehow executing the steps perfectly, _naturally_.

He spun her, returning Hermione quickly to his embrace, neither of them sharing any more words than the single offer, their actions speaking for them as they moved together around the small stone courtyard.

Hermione had to smile; this was so unlike her dream world but it felt so natural, even though Tom was in his best dress robes while she wore her Hogwarts uniform, by now horribly creased and wrinkled, her hair in disarray, but she never felt prettier.

The way Tom looked at her, she felt appreciated, almost _loved_, even. It was the sort of thing he would never say in words, but could communicate through this one action.

They continued to dance, draped in the comfort of the evening; the music never seemed to end.

* * *

"I love you," the words were softly spoken, but Cedrella heard them loudly, the pleased smile growing even wider as she turned towards the man that she knew was her perfect match.

She ruffled his red hair with one hand, drawing him into a kiss. "I'm glad," she responded.

Septimus Weasley had found Cedrella crying in the hallway near Gryffindor, and had immediately comforted her, telling her everything his heart had wished to for years but had been too afraid to ask. She had accepted him completely, and for that he considered himself the happiest man in the world.

The two were walking outside, hand in hand. They had stayed at the ball for no longer than twenty minutes, preferring the company of the other over the superficiality of the ball. They noticed briefly that the courtyard area was lit up, but paid it no mind as they walked together, sharing secrets and whispering sweet endearments into the other's ears.

Cedrella looked around curiously; she could hear movement somewhere nearby, the shuffling of feet and the rustle of grass and trees. She peered around a corner, and nearly gasped at the sight before her.

"What is it?" Septimus asked her, but Cedrella pushed him behind her, whispering "stay quiet" in his ear. Septimus tried to lean around her, but Cedrella kept him back, finally turning and whispering, "It's Tom Riddle," as quietly as she could. Septimus froze, then glanced quickly over the side of a column, to see what had puzzled Cedrella so thoroughly.

Tom Riddle was in the middle of the courtyard, dancing.

And alone.

"What's he doing?" Septimus asked, fidgeting in place. Alright, so the Slytherin guy wasn't as sane as everyone thought, but it was nothing to get worked up about.

"He's…" Cedrella said, her voice breathy with awe. "He's in love."

Septimus' voice raised such that he thought for a moment that they would be overheard.

"_What?_"

"He's in love," Cedrella repeated simply, turning back towards Septimus and lacing his hand through her own, leading him back down the path they'd came.

"How do you figure that?" Septimus asked. Cedrella had to smile. He really was cute when he was confused.

"Because," she said, giving Septimus an adoring smile. "The look in his eyes is the same one that I see when you look at me."

The two never spoke of that again, content to enjoy the moment in each other's presence as they approached the doors of the castle, the faint sound of the clock chiming the hour reaching their ears with its palpable toll.

Midnight.

* * *

_You're in my arms  
And all the world is calm  
The music playing on for only two  
So close together  
And when I'm with you  
So close to feeling alive_

_So close  
And still so far_

—_John McLaughlin, "So Close," from Enchanted_

* * *

A/N: One more chapter to go, everybody. I know some of you might be sad that it's ending, but its time. I couldn't drag this out forever, and besides it wouldn't be as interesting with all that filler. The sequel does promise to be quite as good as the original, and I will be releasing the summary along with the next chapter.

Also, Cedrella Black and Septimus Weasley really do eventually get married. I wondered how that happened, and decided to write my own version.

Also, if anyone hasn't heard them, go listen to the two songs featured in this chapter. 'Remember' is one of the most haunting songs I've ever heard, and I think 'So Close' perfectly captures the ballroom scene.

Reviews make the best birthday present. And it's free! You don't even have to gift-wrap it!

Love, Kako


	12. Finale

Just Let Me Wake Up Already

Disclaimer: For the last time this story, I do not own HP.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter: Priscalthum, Ankoku Dezaia, evil-sami-poo, xXTwilight PrincessXx, My Misguided Fairytale, Ilaaris, Bubbly.At.Heart, hpfanf, sakuya-kaleido, Charming-Lynn, aries vs. leo, Charlotte 232, Ruby Red Sunshine, Cathy, Autumn1, SlytherinLuver, Coco96, maripas, BlueEyedDragonChild, deidarawannabe, Dying.Rain, NightRaven13, Sakura Takanouchi, and ViperineVampire.

I would also like to thank the 100 people who have this story on alert, 48 on favorites, the owners of the 5 C2's that have archived this story, and the people who have contributed to over 10,000 hits. It's so encouraging and you all give me so much motivation.

I finally get to live out another of my fanfiction dreams by checking the little "complete" box for this story. I hope you all have enjoyed the story so far, and if I've made you laugh just once then I've done my job.

This chapter is dedicated to everyone who's been with me from the beginning.

Thank you again for letting me take you on this wonderful ride.

* * *

_And I'd give up forever to touch you  
Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't want to go home right now_

_And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
Cause sooner or later it's over  
I just don't want to miss you tonight_

_And I don't want the world to see me  
Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am _

_--Goo Goo Dolls, "Iris"_

* * *

_Recap of Chapter Eleven:_

"_Because," Cedrella said, giving Septimus an adoring smile. "The look in his eyes is the same one that I see when you look at me."_

_The two never spoke of that again, content to enjoy the moment in each other's presence as they approached the doors of the castle, the faint sound of the clock chiming the hour reaching their ears with its palpable toll. _

_Midnight._

Chapter Twelve: Finale

Neither Tom nor Hermione wanted to break the spell of the evening. They danced on, the pace becoming slower and slower, as the two drifted closer and closer together before Hermione rested her head against Tom's chest as he wrapped his arms firmly around her, placing a kiss on top of her head.

For the first time Hermione could remember in quite a long time, she felt perfectly happy.

It was the strangest thing, to feel so complete and calm in the arms of someone she should be running from, instead of silently begging him never to let her go.

It was more than happiness; she _trusted_ him. She would die for him.

She loved him.

Hermione knew it had always been Tom, right from the start. She decided not to focus on the horrible ironies of the situation, that it would take a _Dark Lord_ to make her feel this way, but it was even those aspects of his personality that specially appealed to her.

Sure, he could be cruel. Sure, his capacity to hate was boundless, an emotion Hermione often mistook for Tom's own idiotic ambiguity with common feelings like love or compassion.

Why did she feel so attracted to him?

_Well, the evil thing is kind of sexy_, she admitted in her thoughts with a slight smile and accompanying blush.

Tom seemed not to notice, and when Hermione sneaked a glance upwards, she found that Tom's eyes were closed, a look of calmest serenity on his face. It was almost enough to make Hermione laugh.

Almost.

But she would do anything to prolong the moment, to keep the spellbound sentiment of the night going strong. Just being in Tom Riddle's arms felt _right_. It made her complete; the missing part of her that she didn't even know was gone until she saw the potential in the combined halves.

There was no going back now, she knew she could _never_ go back to the way it was before, that she was bound to this man, and she _wanted_ to be bound to him.

Forever would make her happy, but she'd settle for the longest length of time she could get.

She couldn't even think about what she liked about him most: the allure of his power, the fascination of his mind, or the unique scent she associated with him and only him, that had the power to completely knock her over with its hypnosis.

She also found his glaring scowl to be somewhat endearing, but she'd never tell him that, not ever. Just because she loved him didn't mean she wouldn't keep _some_ secrets from him.

Hermione shivered in the cold air, not surprised anymore that she could feel it—it would take a lot more than that to surprise her now. Tom responded by wrapping his arms even more firmly around her, a whispered "_Hermione_" escaping his lips.

Well, she certainly wasn't cold anymore, that was for sure. If anything, the searing heat that enveloped her whole body at just the slightest touch from Tom sent her inner temperature up a notch or ten, sending a different kind of shiver coursing through her body.

Both of them still kept their mouths shut tightly, although Hermione was constantly debating in her mind whether or not to open it up and tell Tom how she really felt. One part of her, the logical, _sensible_ part, wanted desperately to keep the newfound revelation to herself. Armed with information like that, Tom could only hurt her or use her.

If she told Tom and he hurt her…If she never told him at all…

Could she live with the memories?

_Whoever said, 'it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all' was an utterly misinformed idiot_, Hermione thought belligerently. Loving and losing, and the pain and heartbreak associated with it, is incomprehensible to anyone who has never experienced it.

The heart breaks—splitting into thousands of tiny pieces, like shards of mirrors that stick in the skin as a constant reminder of the broken memories each shard reflects, with the hole in the heart's place gaping and ragged, the heartbeat unrecognizable.

Hermione never wanted to experience the torture of that pain.

A new thought occurred to her; _what if he doesn't love me back_?

It was a rare thing indeed for Hermione to have a stupid thought, but her youth and inexperience with love prompted her to immediately question the knowledge that he might love her too.

If she loved him, she would know him; if she knew him, then she would know if he returned her love.

Such was the paradox that Hermione found herself fighting. _Do I really know Tom Marvolo Riddle?_ _And how much can I really know him anyway…has he really let me in?_

The answer to that was a glaringly obvious '_no_,' but Hermione didn't lose hope. She wanted to know him; her heart ached to show him care when no others had done so before.

Hermione vaguely heard a ringing noise in the background, and she realized that the clock was tolling the hour. Only after twelve long, consecutive tolls later did she realize what time it was.

Midnight.

For some reason, she felt more unsettled with each passing ring from the giant clock in the Great Hall, the tolls seeming to reverberate throughout her entire body, almost like the feeling one would get from an earthquake's vibrations. With the beginning of a new day, it was like a giant hourglass had been twisted around, the gritty grains of sand trickling down almost like water, one at a time through the tiny opening. Maybe they even fell in slow-motion. Maybe the sound was so deafening as each grain struck the bottom of the hourglass that it even threatened to break the smooth glass shell.

_Tick tock, tick tock_; _is time running out or is it just running?_

Hermione blinked; _Snap out of it! _

It slightly worried Hermione that her thoughts seemed to drift to the strangest depths, it again reminded her uncannily of the Tom-induced dream she had experienced, where anything was possible and the strangest things happened without warning. The kind of surrealistic world that would certainly be interesting but one would hardly want to live in.

She leaned in to Tom more, sighing softly as she let his inimitable scent both soothe and comfort her. _Certainly, Amortentia will never have the same effect on me again_. It was only a pale imitation of what Tom meant to her.

She opened her mouth, slowly, letting her tongue moisten her lips to prepare them for the sounds about to come forth. The time for words was now.

* * *

Tom wrestled with similar thoughts in his mind; the wanting to hold the girl so close that she would never leave him, and at the same time wanting her lying six feet beneath the stars so that she could never make him feel the way he did when he looked at her.

But, protecting her had made him feel strong, the strongest he had ever felt in his life.

And when she felt happy, smiling her crooked smile at him so infrequently, _he_ felt content in her delight. When she felt sad, he wanted to curse the one responsible for her sorrow, even if it was himself.

Such are the twisted games the heart plays.

_Twisted, indeed_, he had to admit. Why, throw two unwilling participants into this masquerade game with their hearts on the line and each other as the prizes. And it was hardly fair, as it could be considered that each player won.

Tom briefly flicked his eyes downward to glance at the girl in his arms. He was _very_ satisfied with the prize he had won. Elated, actually. She would never leave him, not if he had anything to say about it. A short time ago he had decided to just ignore the idiosyncrasy of the situation and just follow his instincts. He wanted Hermione, and Tom Riddle always got what he wanted, consequences be damned.

There was just one thing standing in his way.

It was the little matter of the Pensieve, of course. According to Hermione, this world of his, that he had grown up in and would one day conquer, was not even real. It was a swirl of blue-gray memory, doomed to lie dormant in a basin and only spark to life when someone wished to gaze upon it.

It wasn't that the philosophy of the situation was beyond him; in fact, he was more than happy to rise to the challenge. To Tom, it was impossible for him _not_ to be real—he could breathe, eat, learn, and feel other sensory experiences that classified him as real. It reminded him of a wizard photograph; it was similar, another moment in time captured in an immovable frame. Still, the people in the flimsy piece of paper were free, free to move about and continue living in a construct that otherwise would have kept them silent and still.

On the off chance that he might not be real, he decided it really didn't matter, because the reality of the world was unimportant when he could continue to live in it however the outcome.

Hermione was shivering; he wrapped his arms more tightly around her, whispering her name.

Mmm. He liked it. He liked her. What was the point in denying himself of something that he wanted so badly? He already had her; she was here in his arms and had plenty of chances to walk away if she found time in his company to be so unpleasant. In fact, he had to remind himself that she had never once refused him, no matter what he asked of her.

She was perfect for him; it was one of the things he liked most about her. Even when they were fighting, he had to respect the fact that she had the courage to stand up to him. He would never want some timorous parasite of a woman, he wanted the closest thing to an equal he could find; only then would they be worthy enough for his attention.

It slightly irked him, that Hermione was able to make him feel so invincible and yet so exposed at the same time. It seemed so contradictory. A condition this annoying should have a name…

His eyes widened slightly, before settling back down. He scoffed internally, _of course not_.

The word still popped to the forefront of his mind, repeating itself loudly and clearly.

_Love._

_Love, Love, Love, Love._

_That's ridiculous_, he thought. _That makes no sense_.

He answered his own question, his brows furrowing in thought. _Love makes no sense._

It was interesting, this…_love_, for a lack of a better word. If that was truly what it was, that he was in _love_ with her, what did that mean? What did it change?

_Well, nothing, really_.

He wasn't so sure, he realized slowly, his concentration slipping as he recognized just how strange of a situation he was in. He had always considered…_love_…such a dangerous and unreliable experience, one he never felt he'd ever need to encounter. He had always thought love had no benefits, and only drained the two parties involved of any common sense and control they had possessed before allowing their _hearts_ to be taken away.

It really wasn't so hard imagining a lifetime with Hermione by his side. Her condition didn't really matter, and might actually be an advantage. In time, she would help him, and as a ghost she could never be put in danger. It wouldn't even interrupt any of his plans for his own future.

There was a slight unease in the back of his mind; _what if she feels nothing for me?_

He had already made up his mind—she would be his. All he had to do was inform her of the fact. She would not reject him; the risks were far outweighed by the possible benefits.

The tolling of the midnight bell cemented his decision. No time like the present.

With each passing chime, he became slightly more anxious at how far he was putting himself out for her. He kept repeating the same mantra over and over in his mind.

_There is no great reward without some small cost. She will never be taken from me. I will not allow it._

Just admitting the fact to himself cemented his own fate; He could not, _would_ not live without her. Hermione had just become the most important thing to Tom, equally as important as the pieces of his soul locked away and scattered to preserve his own life. Cliché as it sounds, it was like she was another of his Horcruxes, for she held the precious bit of his soul that contained his heart.

He scowled at the sentiment, but if it was what she wanted to hear, then he would gladly tell her so.

The bells ended. It was time.

Hermione looked up at the same time that he drew back, both of his hands still lightly holding on to her shoulders to keep her from moving too far away from him. She gave him a curious look, and Tom began to speak, cutting off the words that Hermione threatened to end the silence with.

"Hermione, I…"

He trailed off, looking away. It was all wrong; she deserved more than just a simple, "I love you."

Instead, Tom moved his hands up her shoulders to cradle her head in his hands. She looked at him questionably, but Tom let the corners of his mouth drag upwards in a slight smirk before lowering his mouth to her own and kissing her, gently.

They both discovered quickly that the 'gentle' approach didn't really work for either of them, as Hermione wound her arms around his neck, his own bringing goosebumps to the back of her neck as his fingers lightly brushed her hairline.

Tom drew back, satisfied. Hermione looked flushed, and at a loss for words. _Perfect_. Now he could speak.

"Hermione."

He needed a different approach, just saying her name made him want to kiss her again.

She finally found her voice.

"What?" Hermione asked expectantly.

He looked her clear in the eye, his voice strong, concealing the anxiety he felt at having to say these words. If only things could remain the same way they had been…but that was impossible, things had to change.

"You are here, tonight, with me," he began. "You would not be here if you felt nothing for me."

Hermione's own stomach was in knots.

Tom gathered her once more in his arms, the feeling of her skin against his own cementing his belief that this was real, _he_ was real, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

"I have never asked much of you before," Tom continued, and Hermione had to fight hard not to roll her eyes lightly. He _had_ asked her to do _several_ things for him, but of course he wouldn't see it that way.

"But I love you, Hermione Granger, and I ask you nothing more than to love me in return. Say you'll stay here with me."

Hermione's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open in surprise, staring at Tom, absolutely astonished that he would confess something like that to her.

Several seconds passed; Hermione was still too in shock to respond.

"Please."

The words were forced, she could tell, but Tom had mistaken her shock for consideration. A smile grew on her face, and she let out a small laugh at the tense expression on Tom's face.

"Yes, of course," she said, smiling up at him.

"I love you, Tom," she added, trying to dispel the doubt written in his eyes.

"Say it again." How could he have ever doubted her?

"Tom?" She grinned up at him, saying just the last word to tease him.

"The whole thing."

She relented. "I love you, Tom." The words were still full of conviction. She loved hearing the words from him, so why would she deny him the same pleasure?

"Again."

Hermione laughed, leaning forward until their noses touched. "I love you, Tom."

He closed the gap, kissing her again. Hermione felt tears leak from the corners of her eyes, but she didn't even know why. She felt elatedly happy, for the first time in a long time.

And she had meant those words.

Hermione felt strange, her arms tingling slightly, although with one quick glance she knew it was not from the goosebumps that Tom's touch seemed to inspire. She felt cold again, and the places where Tom was touching her seemed to sear with warmth.

All of a sudden, a searing pain shot through Hermione's body, and she doubled over in pain as her hands sought out the places where the pain was centered; her stomach, her head, her arms feeling as heavy as lead as they moved.

"Hermione!" Tom's voice seemed to far away, and she looked up at him, worry and fear etched into her pale face.

The pain wrenched through her again, and Tom's arms wrapped themselves around her for stability, holding her up as her arms and legs shook with pain.

She looked around, noticing that she could no longer see the trees and bushes around them, only the brick path on which they stood and the light-poles illuminating the nighttime.

"Oh no," she breathed, forcing her trembling arms to wrap themselves firmly around Tom. Glancing over his shoulder, she could see lines of fog start to emerge, just as it had when she entered the Pensieve, and just as it had when she had woken up from her dream.

_I…can't… wake up!_

She knew what was happening, but she would find a way to stop it, she had to. The memories couldn't be running out, she would make new ones, she couldn't leave, she _couldn't leave_.

"Tom! I love you," she told him, as if to reassure him that she wouldn't leave him.

_You don't have a choice, you know how memories work, the information is staring at you in the face_. She fought hard not to remember, to shun everything she had learned if only not to believe that she would have to leave him.

Another wave of pain hit her, and the colorless fog was everywhere, obscuring the light-post from Hermione's vision.

_No…no…no!_

She searched Tom's face for an answer, but she only found anger and sadness at her inadvertent betrayal.

_How was I to know? _She wanted to scream, to throw herself into his arms and to run away if she could so the swirling fog to take her home couldn't find her.

_If I had rejected you_, she thought sadly, looking up at his sullen face, _would I still be here?_

She was crushed, the cyclical philosophy of the memory coming full circle. _If this is a part of the memory, then there was nothing I could do, because my actions had already happened_.

The bricks were gone, and their feet didn't even leave shadows against the colorless backdrop of the infinite grayness of the void between their worlds.

Their eyes met; Hermione didn't even register that her flesh had returned to normal, no longer the ghostly translucence it used to be. Everything was almost gone; and just like her dream, Tom would be the last to leave her.

"I'm sorry," she told him softly. What she would _give_ not to leave him!

Another shock of pain rippled through her, an almost audible crack. It had nothing to do with the transition back to her world; her heart was breaking. She was crying freely now, his face still blank although she could see a corner of a tear swell in his own eyes. She raised a hand to his face, wondering if his skin had always been that cold.

"I know you are." His lips barely moved.

"I love you." Her body was frozen, she could not move. Hermione begged him with her eyes; _please don't leave me like _this. _Please don't hate me_. _Please don't hate_. _Please tell me you love me_.

"You know I do." With almost mechanical precision, Tom leaned forward and kissed her again, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt his hand drop her own. She was frozen in place, unable to open her eyes again. She couldn't even feel the kiss or move her mouth to sob.

_Just wake up, Hermione_, the words echoed all around her, but she only cried harder at the sounds. She did not want to go anywhere.

* * *

Tom looked around; the fog was gone.

His Hermione was gone.

The lamp-post was back, the bricks were back, the trees were back, with not a leaf out of place.

He let himself fall to the ground, ignoring the pain in his knees as his arms shook with rage.

_WHY!?_

She had _LEFT_ him. _Abandoned_ him. She had returned to her world, and he could never go to her.

_DAMNIT!_ He punched the bricks beneath him, relishing in the pain that shot through his arm at the contact. He might've even broken it.

_This is _not_ fair!_

The pain was good; the physical pain helped distract him from the intense pain he felt inside of him. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He didn't even know if he could live with it.

_I don't have to live with it_. The knowledge intensified his clarity as he slowly rose from his bowed position on the path. He had also read every page of those books, and he knew how to rid himself of the pain, and the memories.

He could never just toss them away; they meant more to him than that. A simple '_Obliviate_' was out of the question. He glanced at his hanging wrist, fishing his wand out of his pocket with his working hand. A quick spell later, and the bone was healed, the blood gone.

Any doubt about his ability to perform the spell was nonexistent. He _had_ to get this right, there was no way he could live with this pain. It would take a lifetime to get over it, and he didn't know how far his would be gone before he saw Hermione again.

The knowledge pained him almost as much as the '_broken heart_'—he was not strong enough.

He was Tom Riddle, Hogwart's 'golden boy,' and he was not strong enough to endure this pain.

He headed for the Room of Requirement, walking as fast as his feet would carry him. It was pure luck that he didn't run into anyone while on the way, for he didn't know if his resolve was enough not to curse them on the spot for _living_ while he had to go without her.

The Room opened for him as always. He looked around the rows upon rows of abandoned items with satisfaction, looking for the proper one. He was sure it was down here, he had _seen_ it before.

_Ah, there it is_.

Against the far wall, a large Pensieve rested in-between two bulky wooden bookshelves. A large mirror framed the wall behind the Pensieve, its edges dirtied and spotted with time.

He approached it slowly, letting a grin twist his mouth as he thought of finally being free of all this pain.

The Pensieve looked unused, its green-and-white marble basin filled with what looked like a clear, heavy liquid, the runes along the basin and pedestal standing out and looking freshly carved. He ran one finger along the rim, feeling the grooves of the runes etched into the surface.

He had never extracted a memory before, but the process seemed easy enough. He raised his eyes to the mirror, scowling slightly at how weak his reflection looked. He caught something in the corner of the mirror; it was reflecting something in the left bookshelf.

He smirked; luck really was on his side. A collection of dark green glass bottles, dusty from lack of use, stood lined up on a shelf at eye-level. A simple spell later, and they were all cleaned. He rolled one in his hand, looking at the empty paper label.

He frowned. That wouldn't do. He searched the shelves for a quill and ink; a quick '_Accio_' brought him dozens of each. He selected the best and paused for a moment before scribbling a title on the vial.

For some reason, he felt apprehensive about what he was going to do. He would be completely removing all traces of Hermione from his mind, and preserving them permanently. They would be immortal.

_The third and greatest stage in memory preservation is the stage of permanence. These "permanent memories" take colossal amounts of energy to extract, but completely remove the memory from the giver's mind. Not many of these memories are in existence because of the intense pain and concentration the caster experiences…_

Tom smiled. That was fine with him.

He slowly raised his wand to his head, tapping it lightly against the side of his forehead. He was vaguely familiar with the process, but it shouldn't be that complicated. He grimaced slightly, and let all the memories of himself with Hermione fill his mind at once.

Just the pain of remembering her was deafening, and he hadn't even begun the extraction yet. He focused on creating something permanent and eternal, the kind of resting place he'd want for their memories. He then focused on drawing each memory in turn through the wand, grasping for a strand to pull.

_He had first seen her in the hallway, passing under a flaming torch in the dungeons…_

He had it; he saw the end of the memory clinging to his wand in the mirror. He filled his mind with the rest of her; of her scent, of the feel of her lips, Hermione watching him eat, Hermione swimming…

He let out a brief groan of pain as he began to rip the memories from his mind. It was unexpected, and he grabbed on to the basin to steady himself, locking eyes with his reflection as he saw the blue-silver trail of the memories flowing out of the side of his head.

As he reflected briefly on one, it was gone, only to be filled with another memory of her. Actually, the pain helped to act as a balm, numbing him to the pain of once again being so horribly alone.

That was it, really. He had finally become used to the idea of having a constant companion by his side, one with whom he could share _everything_. And, albeit inadvertently, she had committed the ultimate betrayal by leaving his side.

The pain was so intense; Tom felt the sharp corner of the basin cutting into his left hand from where he gripped it to keep himself standing. In a way, it was similar to the Horcrux pain, for he was severing something from his body that was never meant to ever leave it.

He gritted his teeth, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He _would_ not scream, he _would_ not scream…

One last memory: Hermione, dancing with him just moments before he left her, and the fatal words that had sealed both their fates.

As soon as the pain had begun, it had abated, and Tom's fingers released the basin's edge, his fingertips slipping over the blood that stained the white marble red. He let himself drop to the ground, his arms shaking slightly as he lay in front of the Pensieve, his legs bent at the knees as he stared at the basin before him.

It was white marble, flecked with green. One corner was stained red, from blood…

Tom let his eyes wander downward, where a small pool of blood was staining the concrete floor. It was coming from his hand.

He stared at it curiously, before rising to a sitting position and healing the wound with a flick of his wand. He stood, slowly, curious as to why his legs would feel so shaky.

He looked around suspiciously, surveying the rows and rows of tall wooden bookshelves loaded to the brim with _things_. Cracked teacups, statues, books, there seemed to be no end to the variety around him.

_Where…am I?_

He turned again, studying the object in front of him. He recognized it instantly from pictures he had seen in a book—it was a Pensieve.

_And an expensive one_, he appraised. This was one of the largest ones he'd ever seen, and it seemed to be countless centuries old.

He raised his head further, noticing the mirror behind the Pensieve. He turned his eyes away; he never liked looking at himself in mirrors for too long. His blank eyes sought the other objects on the shelves around him to hold his attention.

_So, this is some kind of storeroom for abandoned objects?_ He surmised, noticing the thick layer of dust on most objects. He passed over a collection of stoppered glass bottles, their paper labels all inscribed with the same dull message.

Quickly locating the door, Tom decided to leave. For some reason, he found himself incredibly hungry, and wanting to speak to his subordinates. He just had an idea for a new plan…

Tom left the room, and never looked back.

* * *

_Just wake up, Hermione_, the words echoed all around her, but she only cried harder at the sounds. She did not want to go anywhere.

Hermione suddenly became aware of another sound; her own breathing, even and steady. The blackness of her closed eyes lessened, and Hermione opened them tentatively, her heart falling further when she realized that she was back in her own time, her head lying in someone's lap just several yards away from where she'd fallen.

"Hermione! You're awake!" The voice sounded beyond relieved, but with each word Hermione felt worse and worse, her mind still playing catch-up from the difficult transition between the worlds.

"Here, help her up." That was Harry's voice.

Hermione was lifted, leaning on Ron for support as her legs were still too weak to support her own weight. She felt sick; she never should have left.

"You were out for _twenty minutes_!" Harry said concernedly, casting glances towards the open door. "Come on, let's go." The sun was dangerously close to rising.

Hermione's eyes were still half-closed; her mind still reluctant to admit that she was stuck, unable to return to the man she loved and unable to fully return to her life here. She couldn't live with the memories.

She wouldn't have to.

_I-I…don't want to wake up_.

If she, or Ron, or Harry, had paid more attention to the scene around them, they would have noticed a tiny rectangle of paper lying against the floor near the wall, flaked off of one of those dark green bottles, the ink lightened and the paper spotted by age.

Three words were written in neatly arching handwriting.

_Memories of Her_.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all. For those of you who may have been expecting something happier, I apologize. I've had this ending in mind since the second chapter. And now I'm sure you can all see the hints leading up to this.

There will be a "happy" alternate ending in the works, as well as a "bridge" chapter between this story and its sequel. As for the sequel, here is the summary.

Poor Hermione can't seem to escape it…

A Different Kind of Gravity: When Hermione is killed during torture at Malfoy Manor, she becomes a ghost, invisible to all but her killer. In order to pass on herself, she is set with an impossible task: she must first make him experience love. HG/LV Sequel to "Just Let Me Wake Up Already"

I really want to try an HG/LV story, and I wanted to keep the same 'ghost/invisible' theme. It really is just too much fun.

The first chapter of the sequel will be up with the bridge chapter, which you can probably expect around the first week or so of September. I hope you all stick with me!

Please, I would love to hear from everyone what you think of this. You've put the time into reading it, and what's a few minutes more to let me know what you think?

Thank you again. It brings me unbelievable joy to write, and even greater happiness to have an audience for my work, and to finish that same story.

Love, Kako


	13. Encore

Just Let Me Wake Up Already

A/N: Hugs all around to everyone who reviewed on the ending chapter: Sakura Takanouchi, NekoDoodle, Charlotte232, Ankoku Dezaia, priscalthum, PheeCullen, allycat1186, snarkNsass, Coco96, Darkn'LightAngel, Chou Hime, aries vs. leo, LittleAnne, Bubbly.At.Heart, BlueEyedDragonChild, Michelle Pruitt, xXTwilight PrincessXx, Angel, Moongoddess97, sexy-jess, My Misguided Fairytale, Madame Dee, DarlingDearestDeadForever, 3rdplanet, irene0222, 0Rosina0, Hippy Jade, NightRaven13, JaceDamian23, and chocolaterox92.

Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. As promised, here is your alternate ending, if the sadness of the last one really didn't meet your expectations or what you thought might happen. This ending, though, will have no bearing on what happens in the sequel. It was a hard enough decision for me to decide the original ending, so I wanted to be able to write both ways.

Note: The name "Éireamhón" is pronounced '_AY ra vone'_ and is the Irish equivalent of Irving. You'll see why that's important later on.

This begins about halfway through the last chapter; I don't want to regurgitate the same beginning verbatim, although it does start similarly to the original ending. Enjoy.

* * *

"_What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. _

_"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you."_

_"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. _

_"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." _

_"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" _

_"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because __once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand__." _

_"I suppose _you_ are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. _

_But the Skin Horse only smiled. _

_--The Velveteen Rabbit_

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Encore

"Say it again." How could he have ever doubted her?

"Tom?" She grinned up at him, saying just the last word to tease him.

"The whole thing."

She relented. "I love you, Tom." The words were still full of conviction. She loved hearing the words from him, so why would she deny him the same pleasure?

"Again."

Hermione laughed, leaning forward until their noses touched. "I love you, Tom."

He closed the gap, kissing her again. Hermione felt tears leak from the corners of her eyes, but she didn't even know why. She felt elatedly happy, for the first time in a long time.

And she had meant those words.

Hermione felt strange, her arms tingling slightly, although with one quick glance she knew it was not from the goosebumps that Tom's touch seemed to inspire. She felt cold again, and the places where Tom was touching her seemed to sear with warmth.

All of a sudden, a searing pain shot through Hermione's body, and she doubled over in pain as her hands sought out the places where the pain was centered; her stomach, her head, her arms feeling as heavy as lead as they moved.

"Hermione!" Tom's voice seemed to far away, and she looked up at him, worry and fear etched into her pale face.

The pain wrenched through her again, and Tom's arms wrapped themselves around her for stability, holding her up as her arms and legs shook with pain.

She looked around, noticing that she could no longer see the trees and bushes around them, only the brick path on which they stood and the light-poles illuminating the nighttime.

"Oh no," she breathed, forcing her trembling arms to wrap themselves firmly around Tom. Glancing over his shoulder, she could see lines of fog start to emerge, just as it had when she entered the Pensieve, and just as it had when she had woken up from her dream.

She knew what was happening, but she would find a way to stop it, she had to. The memories couldn't be running out; she would make new ones, she couldn't leave, she _couldn't leave_.

"Tom! I love you," she told him, as if to reassure him that she wouldn't leave him.

_You don't have a choice, you know how memories work, the information is staring at you in the face_. She fought hard not to remember, to shun everything she had learned if only not to believe that she would have to leave him.

Another wave of pain hit her, and the colorless fog was everywhere, obscuring the light-post from Hermione's vision.

_No…no…no!_

She searched Tom's face for an answer, but she only found anger and sadness at her inadvertent betrayal.

_How was I to know? _She wanted to scream, to throw herself into his arms and to run away if she could so the swirling fog to take her home couldn't find her.

_If I had rejected you_, she thought sadly, looking up at his sullen face, _would I still be here?_

She was crushed, the cyclical philosophy of the memory coming full circle. _If this is a part of the memory, then there was nothing I could do, because my actions had already happened_.

The bricks were gone, and their feet didn't even leave shadows against the colorless backdrop of the infinite grayness of the void between their worlds.

Their eyes met; Hermione didn't even register that her flesh had returned to normal, no longer the ghostly translucence it used to be. Everything was almost gone; and just like her dream, Tom would be the last to leave her.

"I'm sorry," she told him softly. What she would _give_ not to leave him!

Another shock of pain rippled through her, an almost audible crack. It had nothing to do with the transition back to her world; her heart was breaking. She was crying freely now, his face still blank although she could see a corner of a tear swell in his own eyes. She raised a hand to his face, wondering if his skin had always been that cold.

"I know you are." His lips barely moved.

"I love you." Her body was frozen, she could not move. Hermione begged him with her eyes; _please don't leave me like _this. _Please don't hate me_. _Please don't hate_. _Please tell me you love me_.

"You know I do." With almost mechanical precision, Tom leaned forward and kissed her again, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt his hand drop her own. She was frozen in place, unable to open her eyes again. She couldn't even feel the kiss or move her mouth to sob.

_Just wake up, Hermione_, the words echoed all around her, but she only cried harder at the sounds. She did not want to go anywhere.

* * *

She opened her eyes, instantly puzzled. She didn't know where she was, and as far as the eye could see was nothing but swirling, thick colorless fog. It wrapped around her ankles, and she looked down, trying to see the floor or ground or whatever she was standing on.

Both curious as to where she was and relieved that she had technically yet to wake up, Hermione called out to the emptiness.

"Hello? Is anyone out there?"

She frowned; her voice didn't carry nearly as far as she thought it would. It was like the cottony fog swallowed up her words, mixing with the equally grey air and sky.

Her stiff legs ached, and Hermione found that she could move again. She turned, already feeling lost with no markers for her location. She didn't even think she was anywhere resembling 'outside,' as there weren't even any stars marking the monochrome atmosphere.

She took a few tentative steps forward, not even sure if she was moving in a straight line or not. Turning her head back slightly, she gasped as she saw that she did not even have a shadow.

She looked at herself again. Sure, her arms _looked_ real enough, and when she jumped, she felt her weight pulling her back towards the bank of the fog. She could see the colors of her clothing, but saw no life in the scenery around her. She could hear her voice, but there were no other sounds to be heard. There were no signs of anyone else having _ever_ been there, wherever _there_ was. She felt alone, briefly, before her eyes lit up in a confused realization.

"Am I…is this in my _mind_?"

She was confused; no doubt about it, and it seemed to make sense on _some_ level to the girl, although the thought that the inside of her mind would be this monochrome wasteland was borderline insulting.

_And_—she tried to push the thoughts to the back of her mind, with surprising success—the more she focused and thought about this strange place, the less she thought about Tom, throwing her grief at losing him into the pursuit of answers, a quest she was _always_ good at.

She noted with increasing curiosity that the pathway seemed to slope downwards, as though a hill had formed in the clouds.

Searching for metaphors in this strange new world seemed harder to come by than Hermione originally thought; was it so toneless as to parallel the emptiness she felt? If this _was_ her mind, and she was inside it the whole time, did that mean none of it was _real_?

Thinking about Tom made her heart ache, and thinking about thinking made her _head_ ache, which was in itself a paradox if she was really inside her own mind. It didn't make sense, but so many things weren't making sense to her recently. It _had_ started to get on her nerves; she _liked_ it when things ran to order, although she had enjoyed the unusual uninhibited abandon that she found when around Tom when all her rules seemed to no longer make sense.

She looked up, almost tripping as the fog-hidden path leveled off again suddenly, and Hermione brightened instantly at the sight of the lamp-post in front of her. She wondered how she had been so lost in thought as to miss it, although the light _was_ far dimmer in its colorless state.

_Lost in thought_, she mused. As much as she could, given the situation, she appreciated the irony. Really, she did, although she wondered how her mind could be that literal when that would mean that _she_ was the one punishing _herself_ for her own aimless thoughts.

She inspected it closely; it _WAS_ the same light post! Moments before being dragged into this world, she noticed that the lamp-post lighting the path of the gardens of Hogwarts had been one of the last things to disappear. Maybe it was coming back?

"I _had_ wished for a marker," she mused aloud.

Her smile brightened. "How about a map?"

She paused, looking around. Maybe that was too much to ask, but if whoever put her here was sarcastic enough for _this_, then maybe they would supply her with a simple map!

_Directions to Tom would be nice_, she thought, instantly closing her eyes as a wash of sadness flew over her. Her eyes were closed, so she didn't notice that the lamp had dimmed with her responding feelings.

_No map, huh? _She did not see one, and surely wasn't going to leave the one thing she had seen in this whole place to search for one. She had always been taught that, when lost, staying in one place was better than wandering around aimlessly. Let yourself be found.

_Is anyone searching for me?_

The thought was comforting, but scary at the same time that Tom could be out there in this swirling wasteland of emptiness. If he felt anything like she did, she didn't know if he could make it through. She had only been walking for an hour or so, she figured, but the time stretched.

_If time flies, then the bird in question must be a penguin_, she thought.

She leaned back against the light post, feeling its solid weight on her back as security that it was really there (and, she had _no_ intention of sitting down when she didn't even really know if there was ground under her feet) and the soft light emanating from it was comforting.

"If I don't get a map, then how about a guide?"

She supposed speaking aloud to no one was bordering on bizarre, but so was the thought that, if she was indeed inside her own mind, then she _herself_ would be the best guide she could ask for, yet she knew nothing about the place around her.

She certainly didn't expect her call to be answered so quickly.

She screamed when a tall man in dark grey wizarding robes jumped out in front of her line of vision, surveying her with curiosity as she jumped back in shock, nearly hitting her head on the lamp-post and tripping over the amorphous fog.

She tried to control her breathing, and she was _sure_ that under normal circumstances she'd be in the middle of a heart attack.

"_Who_ are _you?_" She asked, staggering back towards the lamp-post, but still keeping it between herself and this stranger.

His voice was surprisingly cheery. "Well, you _called_. Took you long enough, too, by the way. Wondered when you were going to swallow your pride enough to ask for help."

Hermione was still trying to take everything in.

"At least," he muttered. "That's how I interpreted your words. You gotta' ask for what you want here, clearly—that's one a' our rules."

Hermione was still staring at the stranger; unsure even _what_ he was talking about.

"_What_ are you talking about?" She voiced the question.

"Ah. First person I talk to in centuries, you have to excuse me manners." He smiled cheerfully, sticking out one hand and shaking one of hers with enthusiasm. "M'name's Éireamhón," he said. "Me mother had a sense of humor I've yet to understand."

Hermione laughed, but was still unwilling to overlook his sudden appearance just for his funny manner and accent.

"I'm Hermione," she replied, frowning at the extremely amused expression on Éireamhón's face.

"You're a bit slow on the uptake, silly girl," he responded with a huge grin. "_A'course _I know who you are! What do you think I _am_?"

Hermione let go of the lamp-post briefly to cross her arms. "I wouldn't _know_ _what_ you are," she said, using his exact words.

"Oh, forgot that part, did I?" He asked, scratching his blonde head. He flashed her another smile, speaking his next words as though he was delivering the punch line to a fabulous inside joke. "Why, I'm a _druid_, girl, couldn't you tell?"

Hermione's mouth gaped open like a fish, and Éireamhón had no problem telling her so.

"_What_—a _druid_? But there aren't supposed to be any of you _left_! The druid race was last seen—"

"About seventeen hundred years ago, yes," he finished smoothly.

She still wasn't getting it. "But _where_ did you _go_?"

Éireamhón gave her a few seconds to adjust, chuckling to himself at the still-confused expression on her face. "Why, we went into the _memories_, dear girl! I'll admit, 'twas a bit of a mistake at the time, but I think we're better off for it."

"You mean you all _live_ inside of Pensieves?" The idea was a difficult one for her to grasp, but with the heavily riddled bits and pieces the druid was feeding her, she was able to put enough of the puzzle together to understand the picture.

"_Exactly_," he said proudly. "But not quite. We live in the world that exists within the memories and outside them. We can travel _anywhere_, to any time, _at_ anytime."

"Then why am I here?" Hermione asked the question that she had been dying to know the answer to since she got to this strange place.

"Your case is a strange one, I'll admit," he said, stroking his chin. "I found it _extremely_ amusing—the rest of the council did not, which is why _I'm_ here with you rather than someone else, but that's beside the point."

Hermione looked a mix of shocked and furious. "You mean you've been _watching_ me?"

"The whole time," Éireamhón shrugged amid her protests of privacy. "Memories were _made_ to be watched."

"But why aren't—" she struggled to say the words. "Why haven't I returned to my own world? Why am I here?"

"_Ah_, now _that's_ the crux of the matter!" The druid said enthusiastically. "I don't really get it me' self, but you're being given a _choice_." He spoke the last word carefully, emphasizing its weight.

Hermione dared to let her hope soar in her chest. "…a _choice_? About what?"

"What do _you_ want, 'ermione?" He asked solemnly. "You somehow wound up in here, 'an you see that you haven't woken up yet, right?"

Hermione nodded.

Éireamhón's voice was cheerful again. "That means it doesn't matter what you do!"

Hermione's mouth dropped open in protest. "Of course it _matters_!" She said angrily. "I _love_ Tom, it matters to _me_ whether or not I can stay here!"

Éireamhón's eyes locked on hers with sympathy. "A'course, girl, I didn't mean it like that. For a druid, our sense of time is unique. I simply meant that what you choose has no effect whatsoever on the continuation of your timeline."

This time Hermione was skeptical. "How can that be?"

"You see, _if_ you had found yourself back in your original time, things would be runnin' smoothly, right? You changed nothing. In fact, your going back actually _completed_ the timeframe of your world."

"I…_huh_?" Hermione found it hard to adjust to the druid's way of thinking. It was so radically different from hers, to be able to think with the knowledge of _everything_ all at once, and know the outcome and consequences of so many different actions simultaneously as he experienced them.

It suddenly clicked; she got it. _So my leaving Tom somehow made him into what he is in my time? _She closed her eyes in grief. _I'm so sorry…_

"So, let's see the other hand. Say you _decide_ to go back." Éireamhón had her full attention now. "Your little Tommy-boy never would've ravaged his _own_ mind to rid himself of the memories of you"—Éireamhón clucked his tongue disapprovingly—"and _you_ never would've found those same memories yourself. See? The time still continues."

"But I'm still here," Hermione interjected.

"Yes, girl, _you _are_ still here_," the druid repeated. "You get your choice—it doesn't affect the Time or it would've already chosen for you."

Hermione was still confused. "How much time do I have? Does this mean Tom is about to extract the memories?"

This time, Éireamhón's disapproving stare was turned towards her. "You'll have the exact amount of _time_ you'll need. You're not in the memory directly anymore, so your Tommy-boy is frozen. _He_ has no choice—_you're_ the one that affects his."

"But," Hermione continued. "How does that make any sense? Returning to a memory…how can that be _real_?"

At this, Éireamhón's usually cheerful demeanor flattened and she saw just the tip of the extent of his rage.

"_Not real!_ Girl, have you learned _nothing_ so far!" He thundered. "How can you say these memories are not real? _Everything_ is real."

Hermione bit her lip, too afraid to speak yet wanting to question him more to hear more answers.

"Girl, you've got to stop thinking like a human." Éireamhón laughed at this; Hermione did not appreciate the joke.

"Can't you see?" the Druid continued. "You may not be anywhere physical right now, but does that make it not real? Can you touch passion? Hold hope in your hands? The mind makes it _real_, girl, 'an don't you forget it. Can you tell me in words the depth of your love for your boyfriend down there? No more than you can tell me the drops of water in an ocean."

He finished smugly, noting the stunned look on Hermione's face. "Ah, she gets it now," he said with satisfaction.

"Of course it's real," she whispered softly. She couldn't pick and choose; if she continuously denied the reality of her entire experience, she denied the reality of _everything_ associated with it; even Tom. She couldn't do that, she _knew_ he was real, _knew_ their love was real and was enough to pull her from her own time through these memories, and it was enough to hold her there.

"But if I return, I'll still be born and live in my time, right?" Hermione asked. "That would mean—"

"You'd just be in two places at once," Éireamhón said quickly. "Don't give me that look, girl," he said as Hermione lightly glared at him. "You've never splintched yourself, but that don' mean it's not possible."

The corners of Hermione's mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "Thank you, Éireamhón," she told him.

"'Tis no problem at all," he responded. "We don't get much company 'round here, if you get what I'm saying. No one thinks to look."

She had to smile at his wisdom. _Are all druids like him?_ It would have been amazing to talk to him longer, as so little was known about druids outside the field of Ancient Runes.

"I've made my decision," she told him with a smile.

Éireamhón's matching grin was good-natured. "_A'course_ you had, girl. You're forgetting, I've already seen it." He winked.

"But how do I get back?" She asked, glancing up at the lamp-post and at the fog around them.

"Oh, somethin' about clicking your heels," Éireamhón said to the empty expanse around him. She had already left, the moment the words left her mouth. He smiled; the girl had been good company. Pity the Riddle fellow didn't really deserve her, but he'd work on that over the years.

"Well, time to wait for someone else to call," he said aloud, laughing at the absurdity of the statement. "The girl must be rubbing off on me. Time doesn't _wait_."

And with that, the lamp-post went out.

* * *

Tom looked around; the fog was gone.

His Hermione was gone.

The lamp-post was back, the bricks were back, the trees were back, with not a leaf out of place.

He let himself fall to the ground, ignoring the pain in his knees as his arms shook with rage.

He felt something tap him on the shoulder; Tom hoped they knew that in doing so their life was about to be over…

His eyes widened as he saw Hermione standing behind him, a concerned look shadowing her features.

"Tom?"

Tom could only stare at her in a very inelegant way, wondering just _how_ on Earth this was possible, and checking to make sure that the girl in front of him was indeed Hermione.

She crossed her arms, giving him a quizzical glance. "What?"

He rose to his feet, shock and pain still etched into his features and haunting his eyes. It only took him an additional second, however, to regain his usual smirk.

"You _do_ realize that you are, um, _real_." He said, gesturing to her body.

Hermione looked down at herself, mouth widening into an 'o' at her own transformation. Where once only ghostly flesh and form floated now she was standing on the ground, never so happy to have opaque skin again as she was, as he said, _very_ real. Her face lit up in happiness, lightly turning her arms to fully examine them and to ensure that she really was no longer a ghost.

"Of course I'm _real_," she said lightly, acknowledging the druid's wisdom. _I wonder, if I had truly realized it earlier would this have happened?_

"But…_how_?" Tom asked, frowning at Hermione's secretive grin.

"Is that all?" She said jokingly. "If you're not going to kiss me, I shouldn't have come back."

He smirked. "I can oblige." Tom moved closer to her, and a second later his lips were covering her own, her arms thrown around his neck as they both relished in the fact that, for once, they both had exactly what they wanted.

"Hermione," Tom said through clenched teeth as he held her in his arms. "If you _ever_ think of doing that to me again…" he trailed off mid-sentence, unable to come up with any suitable threats for the occasion, as he was sure the two of them had been through enough.

Both had yet to realize that they had exhausted the night with their ventures, as a thin ribbon of orange light dusted the horizon. Hermione saw it over Tom's shoulder, instantly bringing her back to reality.

"Um, Tom?" She asked hesitantly.

"What?" He drew back, studying the concerned look on her face.

"How am I going to explain myself? What am I doing to do about _this_?" She gestured to herself, looking up at the castle behind them.

Tom shrugged. "I'll think of something."

She raised an eyebrow. "_You'll_ think of something?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Hermione kept up, firing questions at Tom. "But I have no _home_, no _money_. What am I going to do?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Tom said casually.

"_Come _to it? Tom, it's here _now_," she argued.

He effortlessly changed the subject. "I'm sure you're hungry. Let's go to the kitchens, then," Tom replied easily, grabbing Hermione's arm and steering the two of them back towards the main entrance.

"You're stuck with _me_ now, and I'm not going to let you starve yourself," Tom continued.

Hermione felt a strange feeling of warmth inside her at his words. "Of _course_ I'm stuck with you, Tom. I wouldn't leave you even if I had a choice about it."

He was unaware of the deeper meaning of her words, but shrugged it off to hunger-induced hallucinations. She didn't hear the mumbled, "I _couldn't_ let you not choose me."

They were both indescribably happy at that moment, and they weren't going to let _anything_ take that from them ever again.

Did they live happily ever after?

_Why not_, Tom thought. That was something he hadn't tried yet.

* * *

A/N: Well, I hope that placates those of you who were completely dissatisfied with the last ending! I love my OC Éireamhón, I wanted to be able to throw in a druid in one of the earlier chapters but I just couldn't make it work with the plot, so I used him in the encore chapter. Did you all like him? xD

One more small 'bridge' or epilogue chapter, and then it's on with the sequel!

Also, one more shameless plug—I'm premiering a new story today, a collection of HG/TR-LV one-shots. Do me the honor of reading/reviewing them, please?

As always, reviews for this chapter will make me indescribably happy. And a happy Kako equals a faster update, which we all agree is a good thing, yes?

Nod. That's right. xD

Love, Kako


	14. Bridge

Just Let Me Wake Up Already

A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who have reviewed on the past chapter: PheeCullen, 0Rosina0, Morbid DramaQueen10, Coco96, Hippie Jade, Madame Dee, JaceDamian23, xXTwilight PrincessXx, chocolaterox92, BlueEyedDragonChild, Saene, NightRaven13, 3rdplanet, Sakura Takanouchi, DkWolves, nuhuh, Charlotte, My Misguided Fairytale, Emotional, Random.Gal390, contagion, and jeanne.

I hope you all enjoyed the encore ending, but just to further clarify the sequel and this epilogue **will be going off of the original ending**. The alternate **has no bearing** on the continuation here.

Seven months ago to the day, I started this story. Thank you again for seeing me through to the very end. This chapter is a bridge between the finished story and the sequel, which will be uploaded likely within a day or two. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

_The moment I said it,  
The moment I opened my mouth  
Lead in your eyelids,  
Bulldozed the life out of me_

_I know what you're thinking,  
But darling you're not thinking straight  
Sadly things just happen we can't explain_

_It's not even light out,  
But you've somewhere to be  
No hesitation  
No I've never seen you like this,  
And I don't like it  
I don't like it  
I don't like it at all_

_Sit down, come round, I need you now  
We'll work it all out together,  
But we're getting nowhere tonight  
Now sleep, I promise it'll all seem better,  
Somehow in time_

_It's not even light out,  
Suddenly (suddenly) oh, you've somewhere to be  
With no hesitation  
Oh, I've never seen you like this  
You're scaring me  
You're scaring me  
You're scaring me to death_

_I'm losing you, I'm losing you  
Trust me on this one  
I've got a bad feeling,  
Trust me on this one  
You're gonna throw it all away  
With no hesitation_

_(Smash)_

_--Imogen Heap, "The Moment I Said It."_

* * *

_Chapter Fourteen: Bridge_

_Memories of Her…Memories of Her._

_Memories of _Me.

Hermione cried the entire night, somehow finding the capacity for tears even after the physical toll the grief had taken on her body. She didn't bother telling anyone what had happened; no one. She had a feeling that Dumbledore had known, and the occasional pitying glances she'd received over the years now came back full force as she realized that he had _known_ what was going to happen to her.

She wondered whether it was even worth it, honestly. She knew what Tom had done, and she knew that he had forsaken his memories to keep his heart whole and untouched. Hers had been split beyond repair, she felt, and she didn't even know where all the pieces were.

Keeping it within her was breaking much more than just her heart.

Everyone assumed she had fainted because of exam stress or a rare Wizarding disease; the rumors flew through the air faster than a Slytherin's hex.

No one could understand, _ever_, and she didn't even want to try. She didn't want to lose the relationships she had with Harry and Ron, who were amazingly supportive of her recovery, although they, like others, assumed her frailty upon returning was due to being alone those weeks her mind spent inside the Pensieve. They couldn't understand that she _hadn't_ been alone, not ever.

But that was probably how she'd be from now on, she lamented. If there was anything she could do to somehow get over this, to know that there was no sense keeping the memories within her when Tom himself had no recollection of them…

She shook her head forcefully, shivering from the effort. She was in her room, and reached with a shaking hand for the blanket lying just a few feet down from her on her bed. While everyone else got to enjoy sunshine and exams, Hermione Granger had been confined to her room, told that it was either that or a bed in the infirmary.

She could imagine the conversation if she tried to tell one of the others. '_Yes, well, you see your arch-enemy could see me inside the Pensieve, and well, we fell in love, and no, I'm not crazy.'_ She would get looks of pity, revulsion, or horror at what had happened to her. Certainly not tempting prospects.

But keeping it inside her was killing her, slowly, from the inside. She needed to tell someone, even if it was only herself. She held the quill in her other hand, slowly bringing it to the smooth parchment in front of her, hesitating before the words began to flow like water.

_Dear Hermione, _(It felt very odd to be writing her name here)

_I really didn't like the forties_. _The classes were nowhere near as challenging, and the people dressed so strangely! But I loved him…God, how much I loved him. Tom was everything that I'd ever wanted, everything that I didn't even know I needed until he showed me. I suppose I could contribute that to my scarce experience with relationships, but I'm sure he felt the same way. If there was any other way I could go back in time…_

She could taste his lips in her head. What she would give to see him again, to break back into the twining dance of emotions and memories and even forsake everything she had ever known just to be with him.

She cried, knowing what _she_ had done to him. She could hardly give herself _all_ the credit; she had certainly pushed him very close to the edge, although he had probably been in sight of it for some time.

He was cold, dark, and evil, all of his best and worst features rolled into an intimidating menace, torturing and killing without a thought simply because he couldn't bear the same pain she was going through at finally opening up their hearts to the other.

_Why can't I just go to him? If I bring the memories, he can see! He can know what happened, and we can be together…_

Even as she wrote the words, she knew how futile they sounded, and the parchment went up in flames just as quickly. As the words burned away before her eyes, some moderate level of the same warmth comforted her heart.

She continued to write, throwing the burning embers down onto the floor, parchment flying everywhere as she settled herself into a more comfortable position, a light breeze from the open window ruffling the loose pages. The quill angrily sketched across the paper, detailing everything she wished to say, to _everyone_, although the words would only be said to herself.

_I wonder if I'd become like him. Actually, that's a pretty scary thought. I wonder if he thought that way. If he knew what he was doing to himself. I don't think he did, but you can't go back. Once you start something like that, you have to keep going. Those holes in your mind, half-memories of things you can't even remember would drive you crazy. I don't really want to be crazy. _

_This really helps, you know. It's like writing to a pen-pal, but instead of mailing the letters, I burn them. Burning parchment doesn't really smell all that bad. I wonder if this is what it would feel like to extract my memories?_

As soon as she finished the thought in her mind, her hand began shaking and a huge ink blot splattered across the end of the sentence. She frowned, lighting it with a flick of her wand. Watching the paper burn, she felt at peace. The floor was wood, but she didn't care about staining it with soot, and she figured it was so varnished that it would be nearly impossible to catch fire from a few smoking embers.

She was scared beyond belief at the thought of ripping open her mind to extract the memories of her time in the Pensieve.

_If Tom can do it, so can I. _

_That's really a terrible guide, you know. I don't do plenty of things Tom does! _

_I love him._

She hated burning that one, and decided to burn it into her mind instead as long as she could before she finally set the tip of her wand to the paper, igniting it in a flash and watching the illuminated words before they were consumed into ash.

It was really a battle, she decided. Did her heart or her mind want to win more? Her heart longed to hold on to the memories as long as she could, and didn't want anything to tarnish them. Her mind argued that, in the perfect state she'd read about, the memories _wouldn't_ be tarnished by _anything_, even by remembering them herself. _And_, she reasoned, she'd be able to truly release herself from this prison of torment she'd put herself into.

The last parchment was now completely crumbled away. The moment she'd said those words she had doomed them all. She had been pulled back to her own time. She knew she belonged with him, but she did not belong in that time. She knew, somewhere deep in her heart, that she'd never be able to stay there, but she never expected it would come so fast or so hard.

_Nothing good lasts forever, and nothing beautiful and perfect like that can last at all. _

_I've made my decision. It really has to be this way. I'd follow him in anything, even if he didn't know it. Even if I didn't know it either._

That parchment fragment followed the rest. She knew she was wasting paper, but it was therapeutic. It made her feel better, and with each thought she released, each parchment burned, she felt her heart coming back together slowly, piece by jagged piece. If she had tried to collect the fragments in her hand, she knew she'd cut herself.

She was down to her last two pieces of parchment. She was crying now, not from the pain, but from anticipation. Once she made a decision, Hermione always stuck to it. And this would be no exception.

_There's a message in all of this, really. Don't fall in love? Hardly. How about: know yourself, and don't do things you know in the bottom of your heart are wrong. Even if you recognize that something that comes from your heart can only be love, KNOW that it can and will hurt you. Love without hurt is nothing; you can't appreciate one without the other. It takes hurt to truly know how good you had it earlier. And no regrets. Never regret. Feel free to contradict yourself, but never regret anything you do. I don't. These…my memories aren't regrets. I'm not doing this for that reason. I'm doing it because I can't live like this. I wouldn't have done anything differenly, I'm just not that strong. And this is the best way, because the memories won't really be gone, see, I can still keep them…keep them somewhere safe. _

_What if I don't even know what they are?_

_I never take chances unless I'm sure. _

_Love, Hermione_

Hermione was taking all precautions. She hurriedly scribbled away on the last piece of parchment, all capital letters, then transfigured her quill into a bottle, the glass rippled and dark from the deep black color of the feather quill. Typical to most glass bottles meant for storing things, a plain paper label wrapped around its center, inscribed with the message she'd chosen for it. She studied it, satisfied, pulling out the stopper with an audible _pop!_

She wondered if it would make a sound similar to that, ripping out one's memories. She hoped not; it wasn't a particularly pleasant sound. The bottle felt heavy in her hands, and she began to second-guess her earlier decision. She didn't know if she was fully committed or not to this; the butterflies in her stomach had taken up the tango in offense.

She stared at her wand warily, eyes jumping back from the piece of wood in her hands to the messages inscribed on both parchments. She still hadn't burned the one.

The flames licked at the corners of her last letter, the edges curling in on themselves as her last physical bit of evidence vanished into ash and smoke on the air.

No one had to know.

No one _would_ ever know.

Her fingers gripped the wand and the bottle. "I have to do this," she spoke aloud, gritting her teeth.

_No, you don't_, she thought right back. _You're being cowardly, Hermione. You're taking the easy way out. You can't have both ways!_

She didn't want to admit it, but that was undeniably true. She _was_ acting cowardly, in a way, running from a path she didn't want to take. But what else could one do? Harry and Ron had already told her their plans for the following year, and Hermione knew she could never go into this war impartial, as she was with her memories of him. She couldn't be that selfish, now that there was more than one life on the line. She was no longer on her own. If she hesitated, for even a second, Ron's or Harry's life might be the price, and she was unwilling to let that happen. Her own, she could live with, but no one else should have to bear any consequences from her pain.

She smiled grimly, raising the wand to her right temple. She'd never extracted memories before, and certainly not to this level, but she knew vaguely what to do from reading the first book Tom had checked out of the library for her. It contained no useful information about her own condition, but it _had_ contained several detailed pages about the proper removal of memories. And, like everything she read, Hermione had paid attention, tucking the information away in her head.

_And now it is proving to be quite useful_, she thought, lifting herself to sit on her knees as the wand brushed against her hair.

_No more second guessing. Now or never_.

_Now_.

"_Turn around, I'm talking to you!" He had told her. She spun on the spot, shock evident at the fact that someone had been able to sense her presence here. "Are you deaf?"_

The thought was gone, trailing from a spot near her temple and clinging to her wand, the long trail of blue-silver haze stretching between the two. She continued.

_The scent of Amortentia, completely identical with the natural scent she associated with Tom. __His back was to her as he rolled a rose petal in his fingers before tossing it into the cauldron._

_She never told him._

The memory clung to her wand, the feeling of separation like pulling a wet bandage from her skin.

_Told him what?_

The stream of memories flew quickly now, each one pulled from her mind with relative ease. She acknowledged the feeling like a shiver in her brain, but no headache or drowsiness to keep her mind from its usual clarity. It was painful, yes, but she bore it as best she could, gritting her teeth and focusing on the memories themselves to help her dull the pain. They made a wonderful anesthesia, and she could feel every one pass before her eyes, every single time she'd spent in Tom's presence.

She didn't know it had been so many.

_He pulled her into his arms, crushing her to him in a rare open act of concern, hissing for the Basilisk to leave the open Chamber as he shouted, "Are you crazy? You could've been killed!" She could feel his breath against her ear, the top of her head. She could feel his heartbeat speeding up, reminding her once again that, _yes_, he had a heart_, _and _yes_, it was all hers. _

_He was worried for me_, she reflected. _He didn't want me to get hurt_.

The thought was gone as more and more flashes of time sped from her subconscious mind and to the glob of blue sticking to her wand.

She smiled, closing her eyes to see the picture more clearly as the next memory played in slow faintness.

"_But I love you, Hermione Granger…"_

_And she returned that love_.

His confession, gone; her response, gone; and her day in the infirmary being forced to swallow countless healing and sleeping potions, gone.

The memories were in the bottle and the bottle was stoppered, lying innocently on her red coverlet.

She stared at it.

It was a glass bottle, tucked neatly against a fold of her blanket; and _she_ had that same blanket partially wrapped around herself, and _what_ was she doing in bed when it was so bright outside?

She racked her brain for the last thing she was doing prior to this…_oh_.

She remembered fainting in Dumbledore's office—_ that explains it_.

She turned her head to the side, eyebrow raised at seeing the copious amounts of chocolate piled on her nightstand, sitting beside a white porcelain mug of—she inhaled deeply just to be sure—hot chocolate.

She glanced down again; she was clutching her wand rather tightly, and gently leaned over to set it down next to the mound of chocolate. In doing so, her knee accidentally hit the small piece of parchment resting under the blanket, making a crinkling noise as she eased off of it and picked it up.

She frowned at the strange request, written in neat capital letters.

_Throw the bottle in the Lake. _

_That's odd_, she thought, staring at the paper. Her eyes traveled back down to the bottle—it had the same message inscribed on it, again in all capitals, but with a more polite '_please_' added before the demand.

_Throw the bottle in the lake? _She thought with confusion. She picked up the bottle between two fingers, holding it up to eye level for inspection. She couldn't see inside, but she did notice that the bottle's contents had a delightfully wonderful scent, very dark and heady...

She coughed, drawing the bottle away from her face. The cork was stoppered tight, and after a few moments of tugging she gave up, content with rolling it in the palm of her hand.

The thought flashed through her mind that the object in her hands might be evil, but she logically disputed the notion. The laws governing objects brought into the school through mail or otherwise were strong, and besides, if someone of ill intent had snuck into her dormitory just to plant a somehow dark-magicked bottle in her _bed_, she figured someone else would have noticed, or that the person in question should have found a better way of concluding their evil plans.

She twirled it once again in her fingers. She decided it must be from someone she knew; after all, the handwriting was oddly familiar to her. She studied the stopper again. _What are the chances there are fireworks in there?_

The idea made her laugh, and she crawled out of bed, surprised by the unsteadiness of her legs as she sought fresh robes to change into. She felt tired, not just physically but more mentally _exhausted_ than she'd felt in a long time.

She supposed it was because she'd been sleeping for so long; Hermione never overslept if she could help it, she really didn't see the point; reality was always much better than her dreams.

She had to grasp the stair railing with one hand tightly, the other holding both her wand and the strange bottle, deciding to humor the odd request.

She made it to the main courtyard in less than five minutes, good time considering how shaky her legs were. She hadn't passed many people on the way down, it seemed most were probably eating lunch, considering the hour. In front of her stood the numerous flowers and hedges, the grass cascading further down a hill to the edge of the lake, a few trees lining the path that continued around its glassy surface.

Although she often came down to the Hogwarts grounds to walk around by herself, she had never truly felt '_alone_' doing so until that moment. It was a warm day, perfect by most standards, but she felt odd, out of place. Like she was missing something she couldn't even see. She glanced down; yes, she _had_ remembered to put on shoes, and her clothes seemed to be in order, so _that_ couldn't be it.

She dismissed the feelings, instead continuing down towards the rolling hill. The breeze coming off of the lake felt nice, and Hermione stretched out her arms, the tension she didn't even know she had relaxing away as she stretched her neck to one side.

"Hermione!"

She spun around, surprised, the bottle she held accidentally rolling out of her right hand as she looked at Harry and Ron as they waved to her from further up the path, near an old lamp-post. She smiled at them, the smile breaking as she realized that the glass bottle was nowhere to be seen, and she searched the clumps of grass around her with one foot, unable to find it, her hands feeling oddly empty without its weight to hold on to.

"Are you feeling better?" Ron reached her, looking concerned.

"What are you doing?" Harry's question was more blunt, and Hermione laughed.

"I…dropped something, but it's not important," she answered, laughing at the way the wind made Harry's hair stick up even more than usual.

"I don't see anything," Ron offered instantly, searching the grass around them as Hermione moved a few steps up the hill to be even with their height.

"We actually went to the _library_ while you were recovering," Ron continued, the tone in his voice displaying exactly what he thought about that particular part of the school.

"We're looking for books that would help us with, you know," Harry's voice grew unnecessarily quiet, "destroying the Horcruxes."

Hermione nodded, this was right up her alley. "I'll look again later tonight," she promised them. The more prepared they could be, the better.

"It's all happening so fast," Ron commented. "The Horcruxes have got to be destroyed, and then, well, there'll have to be an _end_."

"It's got to end somehow," Harry agreed. The words of the prophecy floated to the forefront of his mind, and Harry swallowed thickly, not sure if he was ready. Dumbledore believed he was, he had given the three all the tools they'd need.

"I wish we had more time," Hermione said wistfully. School was just about over, and soon the three of them would be confronting the reality of their enemies head-on.

The three slowly walked back, and Hermione felt her gaze drawn to the old lamppost, tarnished with age, the surface all but rusted away. It was funny; she had never really noticed it before.

_We'll have all the time we need…_

She didn't know where the thought came from, but shrugged it off. She didn't recognize the feeling, but her _own_ time was slowly running away from her, the days and seconds running out as clearly and fleetingly as a blink.

Time wasn't cruel to her, and neither was fate, but they would both give her exactly what she needed. They always had.

* * *

Once leaving her hands, the bottle of memories had rolled down the grassy slope, its shape helping it navigate the smooth hill. It came to a gentle rest some few feet from the gravelly surface of the winding path, stopping against a clump of grass surrounding an old tree, the glass clinking softly against the few rocks around it.

No one was around to notice it, so the bottle sat; inconspicuously resting in the shade the tree provided, the dark color of its glass form blending in with the surrounding foliage.

Its small label had become somewhat dislodged during its journey from Hermione's hand to its current resting place, and the edge curled away from the glass, blowing slightly in the wind as a breeze rustled through the area.

And there, with naught but time for its company, it would sit.

**The End.**

* * *

A/N: A huge thank you again to everyone who has reached the end of this story with me, and a special thanks to those of you who have helped me along with reviews. It really does mean more to me than I can say.

I'm sure many of you have the same questions, so I will try to answer some large ones here. I apologize in advance for the long Author's Notes, but this is all relevant, trust me!

_Why would you end it like that with everything going back to normal?)_ That's exactly the point. The two main themes of this story I hope to get across are that _everything_ that happened was real (as shown in the encore chapter) and that _nothing_ changed. I did a lot of research on the conjectures behind time travel, and to put it bluntly, it is near _scientifically impossible _to change the past. The Novikov self-consistency principle states that if an event exists that would change the past, then that event has a zero percent probability of happening. That is the whole point behind the paradox created by the 'permanent memories'—she went back in time, _completing_ the timeframe and changing nothing.

I do not care if _you_ do not care whether or not a time-travel story is accurate. Completely ignoring knowledge like that, to me, is personally unacceptable. To put it bluntly, I would not have written about Hermione 'changing' Riddle for the better or 'changing' her future because a story like that _could not happen_.

It made me slightly angry, because, believe me, I _do_ want them to end up together. So, that leads to the sequel, "A Different Kind of Gravity." I can push Hermione and her dear Mr. Riddle (now LV) together without having to worry about time in the same way.

If anyone has any more questions or needs something further clarified, feel free to ask in a review or PM.

_Chapter Thirteen Anonymous Reviewer Replies_:

Nuhuh: Thank you so much! And to answer your question, look back at the encore chapter. In it, she became corporeal by fully acknowledging the complete reality of everything that happened to her. You could even say that every time she comes closer to acknowledging how "real" everything is, she gets more and more corporeal. Right before she opened the window, Tom questioned the fact that she was real, and she disputed that. That's how she was able to do it. I hope that helps, and thanks again for your wonderful comments!

Charlotte: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the alternate ending.

Emotional: Thank you! Yes, it is hardly just black and white, there has to be a reason behind everything! And I'm so glad you liked the ending.

Jeanne: Wow, some great things you said. I wish I could have responded to your review, but I hope you see this. You say that the bottles of memories could not be the same, but I can counteract that argument. In a pensieve, you see past memories, correct? So, everything that is seen in a pensieve _must_ be exactly what happened in the past (If changed, you would see the modification through the cloudy fog like Slughorn's memory) so she _must_ have really traveled back in time through it. Pensieve-Tom _is_ suspended in time until she arrives, and the paradox of the alternate ending is that if Tom did not remove the memories, then Hermione wouldn't have found them to travel back in time. Thus, Voldemort wouldn't have forgotten anything, and his transformation could have possibly been a reaction to his isolation. The timeline still continues. For all of your questions about the immortality of the people in memories, I leave that up to your interpretation, as it was open-ended. In the alternate, by staying with Tom, Hermione does forsake helping Harry win the war, but you have that same causality where future-Hermione is still there to help because Tom did not remove the memories, creating a sort of branched/parallel timeline. The druid only lets her stay because there is no risk of changing the future. Trippy, I know. But thank you so much for your comments, I really enjoyed reading your review. And never be sorry for your opinions! I also hope you enjoyed "Excelsior!"

_A/N_ _continued_: I had planned to have the first chapter of the sequel to post now, but it seems that I did not have the time to finish both before today. Nevertheless, I still wanted to post this up for the seven-month anniversary of this story _(__Seven_ months!!)_._ The sequel _will_ be up as soon as I can finish it. And, I do hope that everyone sticks around for the sequel or for the other new stories you'll see in the coming months. HG/TR fandom, you're all stuck with me! I don't go away that easily.

Reviews are always welcome, no matter how much time has passed since the finish date. I will cherish and respond to each one!

Thank you, again, to everyone who has read this story. That's really all I can say.

There. It's finished. No more. Done. Complete. End.

Love, Kako


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